What Michael Copperman’s Fishing Lessons Reveal About Life Will Surprise You
Uncle Bill threw his cigarette to the ground and stamped it out as he clapped my brother and I on the shoulders. “Now we’re fishing, boys!”
And so we were. The trout, still stunned from captivity and used to the tanks, stayed put in the slow water of the pool. They did not bite the spinners, but it was impossible not to snag them in the sides if you pulled your lure hard through the density of concentrated bodies. Uncle Bill showed us how to yank into them while my aunt watched disapprovingly. “You know, that’s really not—sporting,” said one of the brown-uniformed Forest Servicemen, a white-haired, paunchy old-timer who was reloading the truck.
