My wife could tell it was happening again: I had the wild look in my eye.   She began herding the children into the basement as I explained the idea with frantic arm gestures while slinging unbridled justifications around the room.   We had been through this countless times before.   Life was going to become chaotic because another outdoor project was afoot.

It all started simply enough, like most ideas.  There was a need to catch bait for a new method of fishing that will remain undisclosed for the moment but suffice it to say that the usual methods of minnow imprisonment, the trap and seine, would not work in this instance.  Pondering the question while thumbing through a catalog, the perfect solution struck me right between the eyes.  I would buy a cast net.

For the uninitiated, a cast net is a large circular device that is thrown over unsuspecting baitfish and then rapidly sinks due to a large amount of lead weight, trapping the critters inside.  The throw line gathers up the perimeter of the net via a complicated series of smaller lines forming a large purse when retrieved.  In theory, it is a simple device that is widely used all over the world, especially in saltwater areas.

I purchased the brand-new net from a friend and he assured me that any child could master the throwing technique without too much trouble.  At the time, this seemed a reasonable statement.  After all, how difficult could it be to throw 28 square feet of nearly invisible monofilament netting and associated paraphernalia?  The reader, sitting in a comfortable chair and only mildly interested in cast net success, can already surmise the answer.

I brought the net home and began spouting the virtues of cast nets in general and this bargain in particular to my long-suffering wife as she began putting all of our home’s breakable objects into cabinets.   The box was opened, lines were unraveled and what appeared to be some type of malevolent onion sack overtook our living room.

The box had throwing instructions printed on the reverse of the label.  However, being printed in China, it was somewhat lacking detail: “1. Accumulate net object in arm  2. Gather much baitfish”.  Still enthusiastic, I carefully studied the accompanying line drawings and boldly strode into the front yard.

The first throw was a bit unsuccessful, judging by the fact that a huge wad of net landed at my feet while the lead line hit my forehead with the force of several muzzleloader bullets.   While I staggered about the yard, several neighbors later told me they were concerned that I had been attacked by an onion sack that had somehow acquired a blackjack.  The next throw was better as I ducked and the hateful lead missed my skull.  However, several of my bare toes served as a makeshift landing pad, which in turn caused me to utter a sentence that defoliated a nearby Crabapple tree.

The instant that wild enthusiasm turns to utter despair is a moment all sportsmen know well. Thus, I greeted my old friend Mr. Dejection with open arms.  Limping back into the house I retired to that biggest library in the world, the Internet, for instruction.

As usual, there were several good websites and even a video to download.   As it turns out, throwing a cast net is actually more complicated than performing oral surgery on grizzly bears.   After several hours of study, I returned to the yard utterly hopeless of ever mastering the infernal contraption.

To my great surprise, the added instruction actually helped and the net magically began opening some of the time.  Additional practice saw the net opening further on each throw until I was convinced that, with luck, it might be possible to catch very lethargic carp.   I did also manage to partially snag a curious English Setter.

Thus emboldened, I drove to the creek and waded into the field of honor.  The first few casts were terrible, but my forehead was already numb and the mistakes didn’t hurt all that badly.   Several casts later, I was surprised and nearly leaped for joy when the net returned with a 12 inch Creek Chub.  My other old friend, Mr. Unbridled Enthusiasm, suddenly peered out of the bushes.

Several more casts and I discovered the formula for catching the type and size of bait we required.   I began feeling smug in my new skill and made grand plans for an elaborate bait holding tank while mentally clearing a new spot on the wall for the trophy fish I planned to catch.

One more cast made me realize that there were still some advanced skills to master, such as removing a water snake from the net.  It turned out to only be a waterlogged stick, but I didn’t discover that fact until after a taking a short sprint of several thousand yards.

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