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The fishing went well. Although I don’t think I’m the new Bill Dance, I did wear Tennessee Titans garb while I fished at night at Kentucky Lake and drank beer on floating bars. He does the Tennessee Vols, I do Jevon Kearse. I think this is what you are supposed to do or at least in my mind it was.

I have decided to become a professional fisherman or an ombudsman. One never knows the path I will take.

Sexy Cankles

We also saw the tram from the lake that goes down Gov. Ned McWherter’s lake house which is reminiscent of the Incline in Chattanooga which mesmerized me. Seriously, it goes straight down about the length of a football field. I could not look away.

There was a hootenanny in Hoots last night and I, of course, had to show everyone pictures of my tragically small fish, the tram, pictures of my feet on the boat, some dudes playing guitar and other various things I thought they needed to see. The very famous Dirk Diggler did placate me while I danced around giggling, showing off my tragically small fish. I do believe that there will be a fish-off of the sexes between Dirk and Skyhawk BB girl as they both laughed when I told them we could market it in the same fashion as the Billie Jean King/Bobby Riggs tennis match. It’s a shame that my silliness and genius doesn’t have any economic weight in the real world.

My knowledge of fishing is limited as I kept telling my wonderful hosts that I was catching Skype. I had to be reminded several times that they were Stripe. This is where my pseudo-geek status gets me in trouble sometimes because I seriously didn’t know the difference. I also hooked a crappie which made my hosts and Squirrel Queen look at me with wonder and exuberant awe. (Of course, this is how I remember it. I do know that people were laughing. I am taking creative license at this moment to make me a Fish-Catching Superhero instead of the girl who got whopped in the head trying to bring in a five-inch fish, which did happen as documented in the photo below.)

I am a fan of subcultures. Friends who know me know this is something that brightens my day and that I love to see what one sees and then what’s really there. Seeing the many communities line the shore from a boat on the waters of the flooded, man-created lake on Skyhawk BB girl’s boat, I saw so much life that I have never seen from the roads surrounding the area.

Because I do love the Google Fu, I found this about the Lake when it was created:

Although many homes were moved there still are many homes and buildings below the surface. Many graves were moved, but in the first years following the flooding of the area it was not uncommon for the water to make its way below the lake floor and loosen a lost or forgotten casket and cause it to float to the surface. Maps are readily available for people to use a guide to dive to see old homes and grave sites.

Many of the old roads are still used with just a small fence stopping traffic from driving into the lake. If a person stands at the end of the road as it goes into the lake they can usually look across the lake and see the road reappear and also used.

My fascination with the depth finder probably has a lot to do with the reality that I’m a morose history addict or it also either proved that I have issues because I was fascinated that you could be in the middle of the lake and it would go from six feet in depth to 30 feet withing seconds. We even saw one of those abandoned roads where the depth finder said we were in three feet of water in one of the bays. You could see the road, campers. This may not thrill anyone else, but I became a slave to wanting know the knowledge of how deep the water we were in was. It’s things like this that probably means I need to be medicated.

So, I’m no longer a fishing virgin. Fish fear me now as they should. But I’m still afraid of evil catfish, especially the ones the size of Volkswagons. Some things will never change.

My first fish that had to be thrown back to swim another day.

Cuppa Joe called me a fishing virgin this morning on Facebook, which seriously made me spew coffee on this borrowed computer. Sorry Michael.

Today, my friend Trudy is taking me fishing. I’ve never been fishing before. We were not a family of fishing/hunting people (actually, we were an odd family growing up.) To describe my home life as a child would be a very strange thing to do. I can tell you that it was spectacularly bizarre.

Of course I told the very famous Dirk Diggler about me going on a boat to catch fish and he was skeptical as he knows me pretty well. I was concerned about minnows on hooks (which he scoffed at)  and I will NOT touch a cricket. And, of course, there was a high sense of phobia on my part attached to the concept about catfish eating me.

He is my resident fishing expert, as Trudy is, and I think it would be cool to start a battle of the sexes between them to see who catches the most fish. They are both deadly serious about their fishing prowess. They also most likely would ignore my idea for a media fishing event to rival Billie Jean King and Bobby Riggs but I can dare to dream.

Yesterday, either due to crippling depression or a wickedly smart plan to save my strength to fight killer catfish, I slept most of the day. Ironically, I slept most of the night as well. I think I’m ready to fight a catfish if necessary although Trudy assures us that we will not fun into any lake monsters except for pterodactyls. (She says there is a bay that has these ancient beasts there. I remain oddly optimistic as you know I have a fascination with finding Bigfoot tracks and to see aliens, who these days I welcome as I think they might offer me a PR job as no one in the state of Tennessee seems very interested in doing that right now.)

I have decided that I’m ready for the challenge. I’m also going to bring a cooler in case I fail miserably so I can drown myself in self-pity and cheap beer if I don’t catch anything or get my leg bitten off by evil catfish.

I have a feeling it will be entertaining. I mean for those guys with me because I have a gut instinct that this could be a laff-a-rama for the seasoned fisherwomen with me.

And there will be cupcakes made by Homer for absolutely no reasons whatsoever, because nothing says fishing like beer and cupcakes.

This will be something to see, my friends, and I will be the second to die if this were a horror film.

Just saying.