When your Grandpa was about sixty-two years old and living at Tyrannell there was a particularly sunny day. It was warm and bright, and still too, so he and Alice decided to take the boat out onto the lake to do some fishing. They needed to prepare.
Grandpa got the rods, Alice got the anchor (a brick tied to a long piece of string). Grandpa got the bate, Alice got some entertainment (Artemis Fowl for her and Stanisław Lem for Grandpa). Grandpa got a picnic ready, with ham and cheese and soft bread and nice butter and apples and grapes, Alice got the oars and the rollocs.
All prepared they went down to the Lake at Tyrannell, Grandpa with the basket, Alice with the anchor, Grandpa with the rods, Alice with the oars, Grandpa with the bate, Alice with the books. They were very heavily laden.
They piled all of the supplies into the boat and set it off into the lake. Grandpa rowed and Alice made it difficult by dangling sticks in the water. They made it to the deepest part of the lake and Alice let down the Anchor (the brick on the end of some string).
The boat spun slowly round the string, and small flies buzzed over the surface of the water. Alice pulled out her book and strongly suggested to grandpa that instead of fly fishing, which is a lot of work, he dangle his fly fishing rod over the side and just wait for the fish. Much better idea. So Grandpa got out his book and left his rod dangling over the side. Alice and Grandpa read in the slowly sinking sunlight till their tummies began grumbling. Grandpa decided it was a good time to eat, so they pulled out their sandwiches and apples and munched away as the sun got lower and lower. More and more flies rushed about over the surface of the water and the occasional fish plopped out to catch them. Grandpa had clean forgotten he was fishing. Once they had finished Grandpa read a little of his book to Alice, and explained some complicated things, about fish, and water, and complex mathematical concepts, then told her to pull up the anchor. It was time to go home. Grandpa rowed back to the bank and the climbed out, and Alice handed him all of the things from the boat. They wandered back to Tyrannell, very sleepy and hazy, the calm of the lake having rubbed off on them just a little.
They never did catch any fish, but neither really minded; a lovely evening is a lovely evening, with or without fish.
Fiction » Historical Rated: K, English, Family, Words: 2k+, Published: 4/14 Updated: 4/23}
Chapter 8: Fishing For a Lovely Evening