We carefully picked our way past a jungle of poison ivy and green briars to find the water depth ample, but a bit shallower than anticipated. The kids could barely refrain from lobbing rocks into the water, but listened patiently as I explained my desire to avoid spooking the fish. At first they couldn't see the fish in the water, but eventually a few revealed themselves as I skewered corn kernels onto our tiny hook and adjusted the bobber.
Despite their excitement, the kids didn't fight or whine over taking turns. Norah held the cane pole first while I threw out the line by hand. A flurry of little perch swarmed our hook, quickly stripping our corn, which caught the attention of the larger fish. "Larger" being a very relative term, these were not River Monsters. We changed our strategy slightly and cast out again at which point a 6 inch perch took the bait. I yelled for Norah to jerk the pole and was met with a blank stare of confusion that essentially said, "You've been telling me to be quiet and hold very still. You want me to do what?" In my haste, I had neither described this action or demonstrated it. Another lesson learned. I showed her what I meant and we tried again.
The same greedy little perch eagerly snatched the corn and I helped Norah set the hook. The line immediately went taught and began crazy zig-zags across the water which sent both kids hooping and hollering with joy. They went berserk as we landed the fish and could barely restrain themselves from grabbing it as I explained about pointy fins and barbed hooks. I taught Norah how to hold up her prize and snapped a couple proud pictures. They were amazed by the unexpectedly colorful little fish. As much as the fish intrigued them, they were still curious if we were going to eat him or not.
Norah's rapid success solidified Justin's interest. He was so eager, he nearly put me in the creek trying to get the pole while Norah splashed her hands in the water to remove the fish slime. We cast our line a couple times, losing several kernels in the process, but eventually we set the hook and watched a feisty little sunfish leap from the water with a little flourish. They proudly posed with their new catch and fluctuated between scared to touch him, and determined to release him themselves; a trend that continued throughout the trip.
Norah and Justin each caught two fish and thoroughly enjoyed the half hour excursion, but the sun was hot and they were ready to throw some rocks. Equal shares of corn were distributed to the kids who happily threw it kernel by kernel into the deep part of the creek where the sunnies gobbled it up before it ever hit the limestone bottom. Some fish had sore mouths, but they got a full tummy, so everyone left happy.
We navigated more poison ivy and marched down to our favorite rock throwing venue. The kids were fascinated by a mallard hen and 12 fuzzy ducklings who quickly waddled and paddled their way downstream. We found somebody had built quite a fancy little rock dam in the lowest water of the creek and the kids begged me to let them go touch it and expand it. I agreed and they squealed with surprise at the cold water as it swept around their ankles. Justin continually lost his flip flops, but was determined to press on. We experimented with placement of big flat rocks to see how the water changed directions and threw a few rocks too.
Eventually Justin lost his balance and fell headlong, leaving only the top of his head and shoulders dry. He was startled at first, but broke into a sheepish grin as Norah and I laughed. In an instant, his very surefooted big sister also "accidentally" lost her balance and enjoyed a little splash in the water. They took turns falling down, then started playfully splashing water at each other. Eventually all good things must come to an end so we picked up a little trash to leave the place cleaner than we found it, loaded up our gear and headed home. After a full day outside they went to bed without argument, and slept very well.
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