a day at sea

So, as you may know, my dad spent a few years being a "Professional Fisherman," until he won the walleye fishing competition of the world.
Even though most times that I went fishing I was forced aboard the boat, (being on a boat with your dad on a quiet lake as a teenage girl is the opposite of fun, even in Minnesota) I can handle a fishing pole, and am not squeamish touching slimy fish.
I had a chance this week to show off my fishing skills (not terribly impressive), when a family in my grandparents church invited my grandma and I to go out on their boat.
We didn't know they were going to make us fish.

We were on the ocean, but we weren't fishing for cool, big fish. We were fishing for shiners to use as bait at a later time. It was the easiest afternoon of fishing ever.
We dropped unbaited hooks in the water, let them sink to the bottom, and then two minutes later pulled up a six-inch fish.
In ten minutes we had about a dozen.

Apparently, even though I only caught one fish, I was the "best fisherman to ever set foot on the boat," because they gave me the pole with the wrong type of hook, and I still caught one.
Also, I was apparently the only one on the boat (besides the dad) who wasn't afraid to touch the fish. That means that I gave up my pole, and had a different job.
As soon as someone reeled a fish up, I took their pole, squeezed down the spiky gills of the fish, and wiggled the hook out for them.

All was going well until the second fish, because as I babbled away, (pulling the hook out of his eye, yuck!) he started babbling back.
IT CROAKED AT ME.
It made an unmistakably frog-like sound, over and over again, and I nearly dropped in it surprise.
The rest of the fish croaked at me, too. They're called croakers (not a very creative name), and they are little, spiky finned, razor jawed fish that can talk.

I've never seen anything like it.
Unfortunately, you can't see anything like it either, because the camera died. You don't get any pictures of me holding slimy, talking fish. Sorry.

But I just thought I would share that story in anticipation of returning home to Minnesota.
Where I will probably go fishing.
Or.... see lakes at least.
Oh, Minnesota. Where the women are strong, the men are good-looking, and all the children are above average.