The kids were fishing from shore. Bare hooks, because they didn’t want to pierce a worm. Touch one even. Just casting and complaining a little when they didn’t catch anything. I had a lawn chair set up and a paperback open, but hadn’t read a word.
We’d rented a place on a lake. Nice country. Hilly. Been there about a week.
They hooked something and called me over to bring it in. Said it was big. I figured they snagged a log, but played along. “This is some whopper,” I’d said, but stopping reeling when the arm broke the surface.