My dad and I would usually go on fishing trips on Sundays during spring. Not every Sunday, but most. We would strap the small, ageing canoe which was held together by masses of adhesive tape onto the roof rack of our car and drive off to the countryside. On the way we would listen to the oldies music my father loves, singing along, getting the lyrics wrong and having a good laugh. It was always nice to have some time alone with dad, because he’s always busy working during weekdays to support the family.
We would paddle to the middle of the lake, singing ‘row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream’ like little kids. When we reached the centre of the lake, we would stay as quiet as possible, so we wouldn’t scare the fish away. If we were lucky, we would make a nice catch for dinner, but we weren’t always so lucky. The lake was always peaceful. Its surface was so calm and still that it could have been a mirror. I would dip my finger into the water, making little ripples that would cascade across the surface creating an image as though the mirror was flexing and going to shatter. Fishing wasn’t the most exciting experience, sitting there for hours. The only excitement would have been to see one of those tiny frogs leap out of the shallow end of the still lake, hop around on the bank, until eventually they would disappear into the tall grass of the adjoining forest. Not that I was particularly fond of their appearance, but they did provide some entertainment.
That particular Sunday was no different. We went fishing at the same old lake. We paddled out to the centre and sat with our fishing rods just lazily hanging over the edge of our ageing canoe. As I was staring into the distance, with the recurring hope that I will finally feel the tug of a fish being hooked on the end of my line, I felt a light jerk coming from the forward bow of the canoe. From the corner of my eye, I saw something glitter in the water from the light of the setting sun. I immediately turned to see one of the most unpleasant images I had ever seen, and never expected to see up close.
“Look Kat,” dad said, “A frog, and it's a whopper!” This gruesome looking creature, with its slimy spotted thorny skin had leapt on to our canoe and was perched on the bow. It had a pair of large beady eyes protruding from its head. It let out a long, slow and low deep croak. The sound was unusually loud to my ears, passing a wave of uneasiness through my body. I stared and eyed the tip of its thorny nose all the way down to its webbed feet. I watched it take slow breaths, in and out, making its throat bloat and inflate like a balloon. It started to eerily creep forward leaving a trail of slimy gunk behind it. It started moving towards me as if it was preparing to attack.
Sounding anxious and scared at the same time I said, “Dad, get it off. I don’t like it. It’s disgusting!”.
“Kat, it’s just a frog. Take a look at it “, Dad said. His eyes followed the movement of the horrible amphibian, “It’s not often that you can encounter such a specimen up close" he said. I was surprised that the creature looked so grotesque. The thing was an abomination and looked dangerous. Every step it took sent unpleasant chills down my spine. I found myself cautiously reaching for the canoe paddle that balanced on the fishing equipment on the edge of the canoe which was in danger of tipping over the side and falling into the deep, clear waters of the lake. I made a lunge and grabbed the paddle, placing it across my lap. I took in a deep breath and held it in, hoping that the frog wouldn't have noticed that I had claimed a weapon potentially to attack it with. I only slowly breathed out when I felt reassured of that the frog had suspected nothing.
Glaring at the distasteful monstrosity, I tested its awareness by lightly tapping on the side of the canoe. The frog’s glassy eyes moved to look at the canoe paddle, before returning to stare directly at me. I gripped tightly on the canoe paddle. Just as I was preparing to get rid of the beast by taking a swipe at it, my dad suddenly jumped.
“A catch! A catch!” dad said with a huge smile across his face. Dad’s loud shouting and the sudden bouncing around in the canoe must have caused the hideous croaker to dive back into the waters. I gradually released the strong grip I had on the paddle, and sat back in relief. “Looks like we’ll have some fish stew tonight,” Dad said to me while unhooking the plump, medium sized fish from his line. This was the only catch of the day! “Oh look, that frog's gone! I was hoping we’ll have bullfrog and fish stew instead, something special.” Dad joked as I let out a little giggle. “Sick, dad. Who would want to eat that anyway?” I asked, obviously disgusted by the very thought of it. From there, we started to head back. It was getting dark already, and mom will be worried if we arrived home too late. We paddled slowly back towards the direction of the car and packed everything away. As we drove away and the lake gradually became smaller and smaller in the background, I thought I saw those glassy eyes peeking out of a tall bush.