Fish heads, fish heads...

Last night was a most successful night of fishing for me. We went out at about 7pm, and there was a nice wind which kept the bugs at bay. Christine and I hauled a bunch of driftwood and made a campfire, so everyone could keep their hands warm. Barry spent some time doing target practice, and then went out onto the land for a bit to try to find his dad a swan.



Christine had the first catch of the night, a small little coney (aka Inconnu), which she is going to feed to Chowder as a late birthday present.

The wind died down a bit, and the bugs came out a bit more... which I think the fish enjoyed. After snagging my hook on seaweed about a hundred and one times, I was angry when I thought it had happened again. However, my line was acting a bit suspicious, and when I got it close to the shore, it was in fact, my first Arctic catch. It was a rather large coney, larger than any of us have caught so far at the end of the road. I screeched, threw the fishing rod on the ground and ran away, while Deon jumped into the water to get the fish. Of course, as many of you may know, fish are probably my biggest phobia, other than needles, and I have hated them for all of my life. Thus, Deon had to hold my prized fish while I held my stomach reflexes at bay to have this picture taken:



Due to a bet that Deon made, saying "if you catch a fish, I'll go swimming"... he was into the water, having a nice, refreshing Arctic dip at 10pm. He said it was pretty cold, and we mostly stood there laughing and taking pictures. As you know, there is no way I would have gone into that water after having pulled out that fish! Who knows what else could be lurking!

After Deon's swim we were all anxious to try to catch some more. A few casts later, and my line started acting suspicious again. I pulled out another fish not quite as big as the last one, but still a good size. Another episode of screeching, covering my eyes and ears, and telling Deon to do something, and my fish was out of the water.



That pretty much ended our fishing excursion for the evening. When we returned to town, Deon gutted and scaled the fish, and we put the big one in the freezer (eep!) and cut up the smaller one for eating in the very near future.


The big one, whom I've named Coney O'Brian.


The smaller one, whom we shall call Ice Cream Coney.

Can't wait to head out fishing again sometime soon! Deon's the last one who needs to catch a fish at this point, poor guy.