Every man has a giant

My name is Mark, and I have a problem.

Every man has his giant.

Captain Ahab had Moby Dick. Steve Fawcett had his insatiable need for adventure. Rocky Balboa had his relative ignorance, and I have a giant too. Something I face that haunts me at every turn, that greets me not long after I wake, visits me throughout the day, and sometimes visits me in my dreams. It is the thing which I have to conquer.

My giant...is fishing.

To be honest, I have to concentrate on keeping it from becoming an obsession, and it isn't easy. Right now as I sit before my laptop, I know that there are Hybrid Stripers over ten pounds swimming within 2 miles of where I am. I know that I have what it takes to catch them, and I know that there are bigger fish swimming in the same waters. I know what the wind feels like on my face as my eyes begin to water from the breeze, and the anticipation of waiting for that first strike, and the next.

I know that within 45 minutes I could be on some of the best panfish water in the state of Pennsylvania, and most of my favorite spots on that lake are spots that I've never seen anyone else fish right, and I can slip in there and catch fish right under their noses.

I know where the Flatheads swim.

It gets to me. Those days where someone outfishes me and it takes me until just before I have to leave to break the code. Then I go back and the next time that method doesn't work. I must learn to break the code faster.

I get nervous every time I get to waist deep while wading, yet I've watched guys zoom past me until they are nearly up to their armpits in the water, yet continue to cast. Not that I think that's particularly safe (or smart) but when it gets quiet, and I'm in weeds up to my thighs, water up to my pockets, I wish I could be crazy like those guys and stop wondering what's going to pop up next to me (it's happened) or if a Snapping Turtle is going to decide to sample me (it nearly happened: thankfully it was clear water.).

I need to slay that giant.

I can't do a great Roll Cast with my fly rod. I can't use a bait caster reel at all. There are people who are better fishermen than I, who tie better flies than I, tie better knots than I, who get a perfect circle in their cast net nearly every time...

There's something in me that wants to do everything involved in sport fishing and to eventually perfect every aspect of it.

As long as there is even one part of fishing that I haven't conquered, it will be a giant looming over me, casting its shadow across my point of view. Whispering in my ear that I have failed to do something...and it wins again. Every time I try to adjust the lip of a Rapala and it makes no difference, I'll know my giant is there. When I catch only a single White Bass and I'm using minnows, I know it's there.

My giant is fishing itself, but if I am careful and don't let it beat me, don't let it come between me and what's important, instead letting it push me just enough to get better all the time, one day my giant will fall.

On that day I wonder if I'll laugh or cry?