A Simple Fishing Trip

By: Olivia McGee

Perspective can change everything. 

I still remember that trip my dad took me on one Saturday. It had been one of the simplest trips I’d ever been on; however, I’d realized the most within the fewest activities. 

We’d driven down to our property in the intercoastal waterways, and I’d expected us to simply clean our boat and head off. Instead, however, my dad led me towards the dock, and I followed as he made his way to the boat and once he came back to where I stood, he handed me a rod. 

A fishing rod. 

Never done much with it in my hands before—but always observed my dad casting the line and reeling in fish. Maybe once had I ever used and/or caught something with it before. 

In his hands, the simple tool was a mighty weapon to wield against the sea fauna. 

In mine, it was a foreign object. 

He spoke calmly, instructing me patiently as he guided me through the motions until I could decently enough get the line out in the general area I wanted. Then, we stood and watched through our sunglasses to see if we could catch any little bait hiding within the submerged grasses on the edge of the bank. He threw the casting net in and I stood there, eyes scanning the shallow water for signs of movement. 

With maybe half a dozen bait in our bucket, we hopped in our boat and motored around for a while, enjoying the views and weather. 

It was silent. 

Calm. 

My hair was racing behind me, overtaken by the wind. Yet in that moment, I felt different. I wasn’t sure what exactly it was at the time, but this Saturday away from my normal life seemed…

…better. 

Or more clear. 

After driving around for a while, we headed over to a cove. We let the anchor splash into the water, disturbing the stillness of the river, and my dad once again pulled out the rods. Repetitively, he handed one to me and stood, correcting me slightly as I swung the rod back ever-so-slightly before flicking it forward and the thread flew, sending the bait on a hook to plop into the water a few yards away. 

Not too bad for just learning. 

We stayed out there maybe an hour, catching nothing, saying little—but more was said in that silence than any word could possibly convey. Out there, on the water…I was free. I was unbound by SATs or the stresses of Robotics competitions or even tests and exams during the school year. Out there, it didn’t matter what others could do that I couldn’t. Out there, it didn’t matter. 

Out there, the semester grade for chemistry didn’t amount to anything; the embarrassing words I’d said a week ago seemed minuscule. 

Out there, it was just me, the water, and nature. 

Out there, it felt real. 

Eventually, time caught up to us and we lifted our anchor, riding back towards our dock. But the work wasn’t done yet, as all pleasure must be earned by hard work. My dad and I carried the rods back to the truck, where we took out the other tools. Brushes, wax, bleach…After a nice afternoon of resting out on the water, we got to work. Scrubbing, bleaching, washing— everything the boat needed, we did, because nice things deserve time and effort put into them to keep them nice and pristine. 

Once we were finished, he helped me down from the raised boat lift and I landed on the concrete dock. I helped carry the last of our things back to the truck and took one last glance at the boat and the tranquility of the scenery, before the engine started and we began our drive back towards our lives. 

However, it felt different; I felt different. Because at that moment, I realized that at the end of the day, school isn’t everything. Grades don’t tell the full story. My life as I know it now is so superficial and small compared to how the world actually works. It’s so easy for people to put themselves into boxes and confine themselves—when in reality, life isn’t just about tests or homework. When fishing, I took no exams in order to catch a fish. I used no study guides, wrote up no flashcards. 

Out there, it was all up to my skill, something that cannot be taught in a four-walled room. 

I realized life is more than what I know now; that everything will change and yet the water will still be there; the fish will still swim in that river. I realized that I’m alive

I’m alive

and that matters so much more than academics. I need good grades to get into college, sure, 

but I need my instincts and my common knowledge skills in order to live. I need to look at my surroundings and know how to manipulate the tools I have to elevate and benefit myself. In the end, school would take up maybe two decades of my life, but that’s nothing compared to the rest of it. 

Society taught me the complexities of life. 

Fishing taught me the simplicities. Life doesn’t need to feel rushed, life doesn’t need to feel as if it’s falling behind or frantic because of the things I’m not achieving. 

Life doesn’t have to feel limited. Or constricting. 

On that fishing trip with my dad, little words were said. Little stories were shared. Communication was scarce, and we instead turned our ears towards the environment around us, soaking in the sun and wind and views to ground us. 

That silence spoke louder than any possible words could’ve. 

In life, it’s easy to get carried away. But on that trip, I remembered my feet were on the ground, blood pumping in my heart, and air still carried through my lungs. On that trip, I remembered I was simply alive, and in the grand scheme of things, that mattered so much more than anything that happened at school. That revelation changed everything. 

Perspective can change everything.

8.1.2025