Madelyn and I normally take a fishing trip together on Father's Day.  This year we plan to be vacationing, so this weekend seemed like a good opportunity to wet some worms, read a good book and just talk about whatever.  We chose a little lake about 55 miles from home where I have seen bald eagles flying on occasion. 

The trip up was pleasant except for the last five miles, when raindrops landed on the windshield.  It wasn't a hard rain, and there was no wind, so we waited it out in the truck and ate our Subway sandwiches.  When it was time to launch, Maddie was a good steward on the boat ramp and held the tether firm.

When we got out to the lake, we tried to bobber fish with night crawlers, but the lake was too deep (90-114ft).  So we switched to spinners with plenty of weight to get down to where fish were swimming (20-40ft).  Maddie perfected her casting and counting before she reeled in the line.  It rained off and on until Maddie announced, "Daddy, I want to go home.  I'm cold.  This isn't how I envisioned it." 

I delayed the inevitable by asking Maddie to use the binoculars to spy on the other boats.  Then Maddie exclaimed, "I don't think there are any fish here."  I had to agree, it was time to go home, but it was exactly how I envisioned it.