I always thought Miss Piggy’s diet maxim – never eat anything you can’t lift – was a very useful guideline. Then we got a striper.
By “got,” I regret to confess that I do not mean “caught.” “Got,” in this case, means “received.” The actual catching was done either by our friend Bob, or by Bob’s wife, whom Bob describes as a “mad dog fisherman.” Between them, they hook so many fish that they can’t keep track of who catches what.
This particular fish came our way early yesterday morning, when Bob pulled into our driveway with two coolers in the bed of his pickup. He’d never been to our house before, and after we showed him around he said, “I brought you some striper.”
He took two bags out of one of the coolers and asked us whether we preferred filleted or unfilleted. We said we’d take it any way we could get it, and he handed us both bags, each of which had a couple of pounds of fish. Then he opened the other cooler and pulled out a whole 34-inch striper, which either he or Mad Dog had caught the night before.
It’s not that I couldn’t lift it. Although it was heavy and slippery, it was still well within my capabilities. It’s that this fish made me realize that serious fish are out there to be caught, and that I might even be able to catch one myself. A really big fish. A fish I couldn’t lift.
We’re definitely going to need a bigger boat.