The Land of 10,000 Lakes :: Personal Narrative Writing

The Land of 10,000 LakesMy favorite part about my Minnesota vacations were the fishing trips I went on with mydad. We would wake up very early in the morning, plane before the sun was up. As the birds were just rootage their morning songs, I rolled over in bed, still half asleep. As the thoughts of aim out on the lake and catching fish entered my mind, I was quickly abundant awake. I got up, and put on my favorite pair of jeans. These jeans have been through and through a lot, with holes in the knees and a long slit down the corrobor take in of whiz leg. Next came my lucky Hinton football shirt that I wore every(prenominal) single time I went hunting or fishing.When we were dressed, we headed out to the kitchen and ate a quick breakfast of coldcereal. I loaded up the cooler for the day as my dad made us twain some sandwiches. Wheneverything was packed, we carried out our cooler, rods, bait, and tackle boxes down to the dock. The sky was just beginning to turn a light gray col or, and all the trees were standing still. We alter up the boat with our fishing supplies, and I untied the ropes from the dock. The boat was exsanguinous and blue on the outside, with a matching interior. The engine was incessantly a little slow starting, still that morning it fired on the graduation try.On our way out to our favorite fishing place, all the houses along the lake were still dark. The boat ride to our spot was only about cardinal minutes, but it was hard to drive fast in the predawn light. My dad taught me that the trounce time to catch fish in clear water was in low light hours, when the fish couldnt see the boat. Only one other fisherman was out as early as us, but we both knew that more latecomers would be arriving with the light. Finally, we arrived at the spot where we loved to fish. all(prenominal) year we went to the exact same place on the lake because this is where we have always caught the most fish. I always liked to sit in the impale of the boat and fish straight out behind us. My dad went up front and controlled the trolling motor, pushing the boat perfectly over the slack where the walleyes liked to float and wait for food.