The sun rose during a calm breeze at my Grandpa’s house. Summer vacation. Days dragged on with wasted time of doing nothing. Grandpa knew I enjoy fishing so he called his old friend Dave, who fishes the Tennessee River.

After a 30 minute boat ride to a dark, deserted, foggy part of the river, we reached our destination. A fisherman’s dream. An empty bay with steam hovering the surface of the water and no other boats in sight. Dave told me what to use for these fish and where to cast. After ten minutes, I concluded he knew what he was talking about while I heaved in fish rapidly. Battles and fights had me anxiously jumping off my seat throughout the night. Catching these fish turned out to be easier than drinking from a straw.

Even with thirteen years of experience, I have only dreamed of fishing like this--the night felt like a movie. With the sun beginning to set, Dave thought that we should start heading in. I begged, “Just one more cast Dave, please?”

Sure enough, I snagged another bite—after a five minute battle of pulling and tugging, I hauled the fish on the boat. As I held the fish to realize it was the size of my forearm, it became obvious the other fish weren’t nearly this large. “The tape measure Dave! Grab it!” I yelled.
Dave ran to the front of the boat with the most enormous smile I’ve seen, as he held out the tape measure he yelled, “A 28 inch catfish!”