Life in Maine (Part XI: Success)

Like the triumphant warrior, I returned to the kitchen brandishing my Ziplock bag. Inside was a beautiful trout, a fine specimen of the brook trout that live in West Branch Pond, grown to about 9 or 10 inches.

I had caught him whilst standing atop a rock on the far left corner of the pond, my canoe tied to a nearby smaller rock. My pant legs were rolled up, my sleeves were cut off, and damn if I didn't feel like Huckleberry Finn.

At least, that is, until I actually caught the trout, and found myself somewhat confused as to Eric's instructions on how to kill a caught fish.

"Stick your finger in its mouth, and break its neck," he had told me.

I gazed into the gaping mouth of the trout. I grew sad at his laborings for air. His reddened teeth looked back at me, and I wondered how the hell I was meant to stick my finger in there and break its neck.

I ended up clumsily and squeamishly killing the fish with the handle of my fishing net. I was not too fond of this part, and I'm sure that I looked rather stupid, wading into the water beside my canoe, beating the bottom of the raft with a net. The clunking of the handle echoed off the mountains and across the lake.

I have since talked to Eric, and it turns out that there are easy and quick ways to part with the life of a fish. Needless to say, they are probably much more humane. He plans to demonstrate them for me on my now dead fish tonight.

Anyway, tomorrow breakfast should be quite delicious. Carol usually soaks the fish in butter and rolls them in corn meal before frying them in bacon fat.

Not only delicious, but healthy!