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Swimming Out of a Hole

By Camden Rappis

My first introduction to fishing was when I was four years old. My whole family goes up north to Shawano, Wisconsin every summer for a family vacation. I had a yellow UglyStik fishing rod, because yellow is my favorite color. I used a yellow bobber, and yellow lures. My nickname when I was younger was “Catfish” because of how much I loved to go down by the river and catch Channel Catfish. Most people thought they were gross and slimy, but I did not care. A fish is a fish, and I love fish. Every fish is fascinating and beautiful in its own way. The first time I caught a fish was a feeling I relive every time I catch something, no matter how big. The rush is unmatched when you feel the thud of a fish being fooled by your lure. I had no idea that the feeling of catching a fish would have such a massive impact on my life, and that it would be something that turned my life around when nothing else could. 

I started to get into bass fishing when I was 10 years old. A friend of my dad’s, Max Richardson, can be accredited to my fishing addiction. He was the one who introduced me to it almost a decade ago. Before then, all I knew was worms and bobbers, but Max showed me how many different ways I could catch a bass. I would watch YouTube videos for hours on end about where to find bass, what conditions are best, what lures to use, the best weeds to find bass, and so many more intricate details that I could not even describe right now. I was fascinated by everything. Fishing became one of my biggest passions. Is this just a hobby, or am I addicted? I began to wonder about this after rearranging my tackle box and seeing the thousands of dollars I spent on little plastic shapes with a metal hook attached to it. I separated the lures into different plastic cases based on the type of lure. Once they were in the right box, I went even further and color coordinated them. Never in my life had I ever been this organized, let alone putting in an absurd amount of time simply rearranging things. But that’s just how important fishing was to me. “If only you would spend this much time on your laundry,” my mom chuckled as she rolled her eyes. I would sit by myself on Google Maps to find any body of water I could toss a line into. By the time I was 16, I had caught hundreds of species of fish in many different states, both freshwater and saltwater. 

Despite having experienced so many different kinds of fishing, the intricacy of bass fishing always made it my favorite. It became therapeutic to me. The silent battle between me and the lake. The lake surrounded by trees, the sound of the wind catching their leaves to shield the water from its torrent. The eagles and herons constantly watching over the water looking for a snack. The fiery sun reflecting on the mirror-like water. To me, the lake was more than just water. It was a perfect storm of nature, and I was blessed to be in its presence.

Sophomore year of high school brought something I had never experienced before, and something I hope to never have to experience again. Along with fishing, my other passion is lacrosse. I have spent countless hours putting my blood, sweat, and tears into this sport that means so much to me. I watched my brother chase and achieve his dreams, and I wanted to follow in his footsteps. In the seventh game of my spring season, I felt a pop in my shoulder during the second quarter. That is not supposed to happen. My left arm seemed to hang an inch or two lower than the other. Whatever, I will be fine. I kept telling myself this as the adrenaline kicked in and the ache in my shoulder went away. A week later, I found out I had torn my labrum in my shoulder. I guess I wasn’t fine after all. I tried to joke about it to keep my spirits up, but the look on my face did not match the feeling in my heart. I was truly devastated. My world seemed to pause for a moment. All the time I spent preparing was now useless, as I would need to get surgery and miss both my high school season and my summer lacrosse season. Things started to take a turn for the worse.

I started to push people away who were close to me. “Dude, are you alright? I’ve never seen you like this before,” my brother pointed out, who never seems to acknowledge feelings. I did not want to eat anything. My appetite was overtaken by the guilt I felt for not being able to play. Was my shoulder not strong enough? Could I have prevented this? Why did I have to try and use one hand instead of two? Are my family and teammates disappointed in me? Unrealistic thoughts flooded my mind at all times of the day. My attitude, known for being positive and outgoing, had turned to mellow and reserved. It did not help having to sit through hours of boring online classes since I needed to constantly take medicine and be watched throughout the day. This was then followed by watching my teammates play through a computer screen at night. I was truly miserable.

My parents noticed my declining mental state and decided to do something about it. Despite the doctor mandating that I stay at home for at least a week, my mom had enough. “Get in the truck,” she demanded. “I have a surprise for you.” I rolled my eyes as I took five minutes to slowly sit up and gently lift my legs over the side of the bed. My mom had to help me get out of bed for crying out loud. I felt so weak and helpless. We drove for 15 minutes as I stared blankly out of the window at the passing fields. Why am I doing this? Nothing is going to make me feel better. We began driving on a windy road through the woods. I didn’t care to pay attention to what direction we were headed, so I had no idea where we were going. We arrived at a lake I had never seen before. My head perked up when I saw the body of water.

My mom had taken me fishing, knowing that it had always been my happy place. A smile crept across my face for the first time in days. Despite having my world flipped upside down, I was back where I belonged. She pulled out a foldable lawn chair as we walked towards a dock that protruded out into the lake. Of course, I can’t even stand to fish. I was stubborn and looking for any reason not to be happy. My grumpy demeanor quickly faded away as I got a line into the water. On my first cast, I saw my line jump. My heart seemed to skip a beat. I sat up in my camouflage, rusted chair. The braided twine, woven so intricately, began to swim to the right. Excitement and nerves began flooding through my body. I gripped the rod tighter and slowly began to tighten the line. I set the hook with my right arm so hard I almost fell back in my chair. Please don’t come off, please don’t come off. I had to bring the fish in by bracing the handle of the reel on my leg and moving my right arm in a circle to turn the handle. I looked ridiculous. After a short fight, I felt it. The same feeling I got when I caught my first fish. The feeling I will never forget, and that will never go away. Naturally, I was grinning ear to ear. 

My mom had tears in her eyes as she told me to hold up my fish. She had taken countless pictures of me holding up fish, but we both knew why this one was so special. The house had been filled with negative energy for days with no change in sight. But a simple trip to a lake, and a magnificent 10 inch fish, helped me swim out of a hole I never thought I would be able to overcome. I now use fishing as my own personal escape. My life is constantly changing as I get older. New people, new places, and some of the most difficult challenges I have ever had to work through. Despite all of this, one thing remains constant. Fishing. I will always find beauty and joy in fishing and all it has to offer. Finding my comfort place by the water is one of the most important things that has ever happened to me in my life, and I am forever grateful.