today was the 12th annual craniac bass fishing contest, a once a year affair run by my brother for his jazz musician friends, the brothers crane, and various friends and acquaintances.
mostly guys except one musician's daughter who wins a good share of the trophies.
so today, i spent essentially seven hours in the hot 100 degree sun on a mirror, sprayed down in 50 SPF coppertone and deet free insect repellent, for a day of fishing and male bonding.
i caught four bass, which pretty much was one for every eighteen bites from horse flies who apparently were deet worthy.
and the sweat—the dripping, stinking, chemically spiked sweat.
and the tangled lines; the hooked, submerged tree branches; the nibbles that had me yank my treble-hook lures across the water towards my eyes like a heat seeking missile.
and the most cursed: the sparkled, candied-apple red plastic lizard (my most natural lure, after my prized candy cane worm) dangling from a branch so high that it seemed like an act of god to get the stupid thing there—an impossible feat if one were asked to try.
then the final blow, skunked again from the dozen trophies.
not even the "oops" award, which i won hands down last year, after leaving my boat untied, only to come back from lunch to find it casually bobbing about in the middle of the lake.
but i don't know.
all in all, it was a great day.
can't wait 'til next year.
and this, keaton would argue, is why men are to be pitied.