Nothing happened for a couple of days. Then the barometric pressure changed: rain was on the way. What happened next was my messenger about the barometer: fish started biting as if they had not eaten in a good while. I would throw in my line and -bam!- my cork started bobbing, then running this way, then that way, then down! I had so much fun playing those fish.
I would think I had them, then whoosh--the line went limp. Over and over, finally victory and I pulled out a beautiful fish. I caught eight fish that day, mostly blue-gill bream, a couple of gorgeous sun perch, and surprise, surprise, a nice fat striped bass.
It is that striped bass that caused me to think perhaps I had cheated. He swallowed that hook! Oh, how I hate that. I have my needle nose pliers but this hook was too deep to avoid injury. Ug, half his tongue came out with that hook.
I always imagine giants in the sky treating me as if I were a fish, with identical torment that I bestow upon fish--and even worms. When I tear those Canadian Night Crawlers in half, I imagine the screams that must rip through their bodies.
Anyway--the aggression with which the fish attacked my worms, the powerhouse way they tried to evade capture made me think that, maybe, just maybe, I had cheated by using the catfish bait.
"No, that's not cheating," my sister assured me. "Have you ever watched fishing competitions on television? They use every method known to man, woman, and beast, plus things the audience knows nothing about. So forget this cheating notion." So I did.
My day ended well into darkness. My happiness, I'm sure, lit up my surroundings. One last cast--and they were still biting. Wow...
Addendum: Click on the following clip to see just what monster hood a striped bass can grow into: (I think you need to cut and paste)