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I am headed to lake Tenkiller to do some fishing. I am not a worm and bobber fisher, but a fly fisher. Don't get me wrong, a good worm and bobber off a pond dock brings back memories of my childhood in Maud, OK. I spent many a weekend fishing on what was called the Duck Pond with my little tackle box and Snoopy pole to match. Those were sunny days on the ranch dangling my red cowboy boots over the edge. My Dad and I fishing is one of the greatest memories I have.

But with age, a ripe 26, I have passed on the Snoopy pole and am in the calm waters of fly fishing. I remember my first fish caught. I was behind my house in South Fork, Colorado on the Rio Grande. It was early August, and the river was perfect. I could see the fish rising all around me. Waste deep I had been casting for awhile and finally tracked one straight to a strike. I hooked that brown and was pulling him in. Beyond excited I wished badly for someone to see it was true. I had finally hooked a fish all by myself. No one around I ran up river to fetch my camera from the house while the fish flopped on the bank. I get back slipping twice in the mud, grab the fish and try to snap a photo. At the very second I push the shutter he swan dives out of my grasp.To this day my friends tease and joke that it never really did happen. I swear that fish was mine. That is no fish tale.

Girl vs. Wild,

Jacquelyn Farris