“How can you tell what kind of fish it is?”

“Ah . . . the size. The depth. And the depth in terms of the sun, too. As the sun gets higher in the sky, the stripers go deeper. That’s why we’re out here so early.”

In the distance, a bunch of seagulls are dive-bombing the surface of the water—a sure sign that there are fish there. As we get closer, we see there are rips.

When we get to the spot, the birds are angry but Henry is happy. “We’re right over a shoal. And I think we’re looking at some stripers here on the screen. Let’s get fishing and see if we can get them in the boat.”

Henry flips open a plastic box. Inside there are live eels. I remember they are his favorite bait for catching stripers.

Ronan reaches in and picks one up.

“Good. Not squeamish. Good way to begin.”

I plunge my hand into the box and grab an eel, too. A bigger one than Ronan’s.

“It’s going to be a lucky day. I can feel it,” Henry says. “So you two want to bait your own hooks?”

I hesitate, since the eel is looking at me, but I think of my momma, and I want to be at least as good as her at this. Even better.

“Yes, I can do it. Just show me how.”

Henry grabs an eel and puts the hook through one eye and out the other so it holds. He then holds up the eel, which makes the letter J, telling him it’s still alive. “Yup. Good solid hold there,” he says. “A striper will attack its prey from the front, so the hook will have a good chance of catching the striper that way.”

Ronan baits his hook. So do I, and it’s gross. But I don’t let on.

“Good things come to those who bait,” Henry says.

“Unless you’re an eel,” I say. “So now I cast?”

“Naw. No casting for stripers. You just drop it in the water off the side and then jig it. Move it up and down.”

“Here, fishy, fishy,” I say.

Henry shakes his head.

“Okay,” he says. “If you feel like you’ve got a nibble, count to three. Slowly. And then yank the line. If you yank too soon, you’ll probably pull the hook out of the fish’s mouth. You’ve got to be patient.”

And it turns out that being patient is important, as we sit for over an hour with no nibble from anything. We can’t make a lot of noise, either, because Henry says that scares off the fish.

But finally. Finally, I get a nibble, and I count to three. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi. And yank.

“Great, Delsie! You set the hook!” I think Henry is happier than I am.

But the fish isn’t. It yanks back. Hard. And we see it come out of the water, curling, as it fights back.

“Let me help you, Delsie,” Henry says.