"Don't cast your line from the dock," my dad instructed my sister and me. Lisa and I stood on the narrow wooden platform awaiting instructions on how to attach the worm to our hooks.
This was our first lesson in our family summer trip to Packer Lake and more lessons were about to unfold. My mom relaxed in a lounge chair reading a Stephen King novel. Her curly hair was hidden under a wide-brimmed hat embroidered with flowers. She glanced over to us now and again with a cautious eye, wondering how our hook preparation was going. She occasionally would forewarn us, "Now be careful girls." and add, "Mike are you watching to make sure they are doing it right?" His reply was always, "Don't worry Kath, I have it under control."
Lisa was a confident and strong willed thirteen year old. Standing with one hand on her hip, she peered down into the white bucket of worms. Lisa boldly grabbed a worm and I watched as it slithered and squirmed through her small hand. I could only imagine how slimy and gooey that worm must have felt to her. She held the top of her hook that had piercing sharp barbed edges up and down the backside of it. The worm constricted, blood pulsed through its body as it hit the pointed hook.
"Remember not to cast your line from here," my dad reminded us again. "We will need to find a more open space to do it." He then turned to help me with my worm. I let my dad push the worm onto my hook because I did not want to be the one to inflict pain on this helpless creature. When we were all equipped with our worms, my dad walked to the edge of the dock and peered out onto the bank of the lake to see the best place to try out our beginning fishing skills.
As his back was turned, I watched as my sister, standing three feet in front of me, lift her pole up into the air above her head and flick the line in a swift, fluid motion. The fishing line flung back in a circular direction. I stood unable to move. Within seconds I could feel the invasive barbed hook sink into the top of my left forearm. I stared down at the hook shocked that I was caught just like that poor helpless worm. I wondered in that moment what had happened to the worm. Did it fly off the hook as Lisa cast her line? Instantly I heard my dad yelling, "What the hell did you do? I told you not to cast your line from here!" My sister's face was like a deer caught in the headlights. She knew she had made a mistake and there was no way of turning back to make it better.
My mom, hearing all the commotion, hurried over to see what had happened. Her voice was calm, saying, "Don't worry, it will be OK," but I could tell from her wide eyes and wrinkled forehead that she was as shocked and concerned as Lisa and I were.
My dad ran to get a pair of pliers from his tackle box. He first cut the fishing line and then told me to hold my arm still. I held my arm out as he pinched the top of the hook with his pliers. To take the focus away from my arm, I looked over at Lisa. Were those tears welling in her eyes? I looked away, her pain being more unbearable than this hook in my arm. My dad gave the hook a slight tug. My arm began to throb like a beating pulse. The barbed edges had clamped into my skin leaving it impossible to remove without tearing out a layer of flesh. "Mike let go! You’re hurting her!" my mom exclaimed. "We are going to have to take her to the doctor." He gently released the pliers and agreed that I was in need of medical attention.
My dad asked a nearby fisherman where the nearest doctor was. He told him that the closest clinic was north of Packer Lake about two and a half hours away. We had no other option but to load up into our red VW van and make our way along the winding cliffs to the clinic. I sat next to Lisa who was consumed with guilt for having caught her own sister. She uneasily glanced over at me from time to time not having the words to express her regret for what had happened. I remember feeling more sorry for her than I did for my own arm.
My mom kept turning back and asking me "How does your arm feel now?" Each question drew more attention to the fact that I had this sharp object embedded in my skin. Surprisingly, I felt little pain; it could have been a combination of shock and a numbness sensation that spread through my arm.
After being in the van for over two hours, we finally arrived. I thought we were in the wrong place because the building looked like an old run down cottage. Yellow paint was chipping off the walls and tall weeds were overtaking the walkway to the door. I thought to myself, 'is this going to be any better than a pair of pliers?' A young man dressed in jeans and a blue and red plaid shirt stood behind the front counter. My mom told him we needed to see a doctor. The man replied, "Well you have come to the right place, what can I do for you?" My mom pointed to my arm. A gentle smile crossed his face and he said, "Wow someone has caught a big fish!" I smiled back as my sister looked to the floor in absolute embarrassment. The doctor put me in a small room and I sat down on a cold metal chair. My heart started beating faster when I saw him pick up a needle filled with clear liquid. The white cotton ball of alcohol over took my senses as he dabbed it around the hook. He said, "I am going to give you a shot of Novocain in your arm to numb the pain." I held my breath and once again felt a piercing sharp object enter my skin next to the hook. The doctor then cut the hook in two, removed each piece with a pair of pliers, and placed a band-aid over the now small hole in my arm.
I can still hear my dad telling us to not cast our lines from the dock. I can see the barbed hook stuck in my arm. But most of all I remember the remorse that spread across Lisa's face when she realized what she had on the end of her line.
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