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Weekly Contest #309
We walked out onto the dock both carrying fishing poles and a rusty old bucket. We spent the first half hour of the morning digging for worms, laughing and throwing mud and worms at each other. Then we sat on the dock, lines in the water, and complained that nothing was biting. The fish weren’t always biting. My dad was my hero. He taught me how to tie a hook, where the fish would most often gather, how to clean them, how to prepare and cook them. I loved them best when he would make a fire and we’d just sit them on the hot rocks by th...
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