The little girls knife.
The sun was low in the sky, and the temperature in the mountain air was already getting a hint of the chill that night would bring. Nights up in the Sierra Nevada's were cold. The old man watched his granddaughter carefully, hoping for a fish on her line. Early that morning at dawn they had been out, and everyone had caught a nice frying pan size trout except the little girl. Now they had come back out at sunset to try again, and hope was high. Earlier that day, back at the vacation cabin, they had cleaned the fish caught that morning, and the six year old girl had been taught to use the Martini fillet knife that her father had for such duty. Fish got cleaned and no fingers were hurt, so the old man considered it a success. The girl had showed no squeamishness at all at either the blood or guts, and handled the razor sharp knife with care.
But that afternoon, staying close to her grandfather, she was fascinated by the little pocket knife the old man used for everything. The little peanut jack fit her hand very well, and the old man closely supervised her use of while trimming line, and making a perfect hot dog stick. Now he stood next to her, ready to coach her if needed, in bringing in a fish.
The wait was not long, and just as the sun was touching the surrounding peaks, the little girls rod quivered, then bent sharply under a load.
"Keep the rod tip up, Bree!" the old man exclaimed.
"I'm trying, Grandpa!" the little girl yelled in her excitement.
The family gathered around and shouted encouragement, and her father offered to help her pull in the obviously big fish.
"Nooo! I'm doing it!" shouted the girl, as she cranked away on the reel with iron determination. The family watched in amazement as the girl cranked in foot by foot, the thin monofiliment line. The rod tip was flexed way over by the weight of whatever was on the other end. The little girl, although tall for a six year old, struggled with the reel, but kept on cranking with a will. Finally, near the lake shore, the fish rolled and broke the surface, showing the bright rainbow color of a huge trout. Far bigger than anyone had caught on the morning expedition.
"Holy crap!" exclaimed the girls father.
"John! Watch your language in front of Bree!" scolded the girls mother.
"Sorry." said the the old man's son law.
Finally the fish was landed, and they stood around in amazement at it's size and girth.
"Did anyone get this on video?" asked the old man's daughter.
Everyone had been so taken up with the struggle, that only now cell phones came out and pictures were taken of the little girl holding the huge trout. The six year old held up the fish with pride, and a big smile on her face.
"Bree, you've skunked everyone today. None of our fish this morning holds a candle to yours. I think it's time to take it home and cook it up with the others and have a good dinner." said the old man.
Back at the cabin, the trout was rinsed off at the sink, and the girls father handed her the fillet knife.
"No, I want grandpa's little knife." the girl told her dad. "I like the way it feels when I hold it."
The old man stepped up and opened his little peanut shaped jackknife, and handed it to his grandchild carefully. The girl took it, and going with the lessons she had that morning, inserted the almost needle pointed blade into the fish just behind the jaw. It sunk into the fish with no resistance, and the girl then pulled back, going drown the fish's belly, opening it up like it was fitted with a zipper. Fish guts plopped in the sink, and the girl grinned.
"It's real sharp, grandpa!" she said. "It's easier to use than daddy's big knife."
The old man smiled, and told his granddaughter, " Like a wise man once told me, 'It doesn't have to be big, just sharp.'
"Yeah, but that little thing isn't going to go through the spine to cut the head off." said the old man's son in law.
The old man looked up at his hulking son in law, who stood at 6 foot 4 or so, and 300 pounds.
"Watch and learn, son. This is called finesse born of experience." he told his son in law.
The old man took the little knife from the girl and told her to watch carefully. He placed the blade just behind the head and sliced down until he got to the backbone. Then handed the knife back to his granddaughter.
"Now, just cut up each side right here, " he said pointing with his index finger, " and hold the knife at a bit of an angle like this, then just saw down until you feel the blade hit the bone."
The girl nodded, and did exactly as the old man told her. She sawed away down each side of the head, just in back of the gills, and stopped when the blade ht the hard bone. The old man then told her to do the same thing on the other side. When that was done, she looked up at her grandfather.
"Now what, grandpa? The head is still attached to the fish" She asked.
The old man told her to put the knife down, and pick up the fish. As she did so, he told her to bend back the head to the side until she felt it crack. She did so, her small hands straining, her cheeks puffed out with the effort. Then a sharp crack was heard in the kitchen. The old man told the girl to do again the other way, and in an instant the head was loose from the fish.
"That's it?" the girl asked her grandfather.
"Yup, that's it." the old man said. " Ya done real good, Bree. I'm proud of you!"
"How come daddy uses a big knife and cuts the head off and you use such a little knife and break the head off." she asked the old man.
"Well, your dad's a really big guy, and his hand won't even fit on my little knife." the old man told his granddaughter." he said as he held up his hand and asked his son in law to hold up his hand. The son in law's hand looked like a bear paw next to the old man's hand. "So I just got used to using what was comfortable for me. And I don't like carrying a lot of weight around in my pocket."
The little girl picked up the peanut jack laying on the counter amid some fish guts and blood. She shifted the jigged brown delrin handle around in her small hand, then looked up at the old man.
"I like the way it feels too, grandpa." she said.
The fish all were fixed up with butter, poultry spice that contained thyme, rosemary, sage, marjoram, and black pepper, wrapped up in foil and baked. The large trout that the girl caught took a bit more bake time, but the baked trout dinner was a feast for all. After dinner, a campfire outside by the fire pit, and the little girl used her grandfathers peanut to cut a perfect marshmallow stick. The mountain night was chilly, and the little girl snuggled up to the old man in his lap as he smoked an evening pipe. She started to nod off, it being very long day.
"Grandpa, when will I get my own knife? " she asked after a big yawn.
The girls mother sitting next to them looked over.
"Oh, I think it may be a while yet. Like maybe when you're a a lot older." she said.
"I don't know, Jess, I think it may be sooner, seeing how she's going to be a heck of a fisher lady." the old man responded.
The old man felt something drop in his lap, and it was his closed peanut that the girl had been holding, feeling the texture of the jigging and admiring it in general. Her head slumped on his chest, and she had fallen fast asleep, and the little knife had fallen from her hand. His daughter came over and gently picked her up and carried her inside to put to bed, and the old man sat there in the dark by the dying fire and thought about the little girls question about when she was going to get her own knife.
"Maybe very soon." the old man muttered to the night. "Maybe sooner than than you think."
The sun was low in the sky, and the temperature in the mountain air was already getting a hint of the chill that night would bring. Nights up in the Sierra Nevada's were cold. The old man watched his granddaughter carefully, hoping for a fish on her line. Early that morning at dawn they had been out, and everyone had caught a nice frying pan size trout except the little girl. Now they had come back out at sunset to try again, and hope was high. Earlier that day, back at the vacation cabin, they had cleaned the fish caught that morning, and the six year old girl had been taught to use the Martini fillet knife that her father had for such duty. Fish got cleaned and no fingers were hurt, so the old man considered it a success. The girl had showed no squeamishness at all at either the blood or guts, and handled the razor sharp knife with care.
But that afternoon, staying close to her grandfather, she was fascinated by the little pocket knife the old man used for everything. The little peanut jack fit her hand very well, and the old man closely supervised her use of while trimming line, and making a perfect hot dog stick. Now he stood next to her, ready to coach her if needed, in bringing in a fish.
The wait was not long, and just as the sun was touching the surrounding peaks, the little girls rod quivered, then bent sharply under a load.
"Keep the rod tip up, Bree!" the old man exclaimed.
"I'm trying, Grandpa!" the little girl yelled in her excitement.
The family gathered around and shouted encouragement, and her father offered to help her pull in the obviously big fish.
"Nooo! I'm doing it!" shouted the girl, as she cranked away on the reel with iron determination. The family watched in amazement as the girl cranked in foot by foot, the thin monofiliment line. The rod tip was flexed way over by the weight of whatever was on the other end. The little girl, although tall for a six year old, struggled with the reel, but kept on cranking with a will. Finally, near the lake shore, the fish rolled and broke the surface, showing the bright rainbow color of a huge trout. Far bigger than anyone had caught on the morning expedition.
"Holy crap!" exclaimed the girls father.
"John! Watch your language in front of Bree!" scolded the girls mother.
"Sorry." said the the old man's son law.
Finally the fish was landed, and they stood around in amazement at it's size and girth.
"Did anyone get this on video?" asked the old man's daughter.
Everyone had been so taken up with the struggle, that only now cell phones came out and pictures were taken of the little girl holding the huge trout. The six year old held up the fish with pride, and a big smile on her face.
"Bree, you've skunked everyone today. None of our fish this morning holds a candle to yours. I think it's time to take it home and cook it up with the others and have a good dinner." said the old man.
Back at the cabin, the trout was rinsed off at the sink, and the girls father handed her the fillet knife.
"No, I want grandpa's little knife." the girl told her dad. "I like the way it feels when I hold it."
The old man stepped up and opened his little peanut shaped jackknife, and handed it to his grandchild carefully. The girl took it, and going with the lessons she had that morning, inserted the almost needle pointed blade into the fish just behind the jaw. It sunk into the fish with no resistance, and the girl then pulled back, going drown the fish's belly, opening it up like it was fitted with a zipper. Fish guts plopped in the sink, and the girl grinned.
"It's real sharp, grandpa!" she said. "It's easier to use than daddy's big knife."
The old man smiled, and told his granddaughter, " Like a wise man once told me, 'It doesn't have to be big, just sharp.'
"Yeah, but that little thing isn't going to go through the spine to cut the head off." said the old man's son in law.
The old man looked up at his hulking son in law, who stood at 6 foot 4 or so, and 300 pounds.
"Watch and learn, son. This is called finesse born of experience." he told his son in law.
The old man took the little knife from the girl and told her to watch carefully. He placed the blade just behind the head and sliced down until he got to the backbone. Then handed the knife back to his granddaughter.
"Now, just cut up each side right here, " he said pointing with his index finger, " and hold the knife at a bit of an angle like this, then just saw down until you feel the blade hit the bone."
The girl nodded, and did exactly as the old man told her. She sawed away down each side of the head, just in back of the gills, and stopped when the blade ht the hard bone. The old man then told her to do the same thing on the other side. When that was done, she looked up at her grandfather.
"Now what, grandpa? The head is still attached to the fish" She asked.
The old man told her to put the knife down, and pick up the fish. As she did so, he told her to bend back the head to the side until she felt it crack. She did so, her small hands straining, her cheeks puffed out with the effort. Then a sharp crack was heard in the kitchen. The old man told the girl to do again the other way, and in an instant the head was loose from the fish.
"That's it?" the girl asked her grandfather.
"Yup, that's it." the old man said. " Ya done real good, Bree. I'm proud of you!"
"How come daddy uses a big knife and cuts the head off and you use such a little knife and break the head off." she asked the old man.
"Well, your dad's a really big guy, and his hand won't even fit on my little knife." the old man told his granddaughter." he said as he held up his hand and asked his son in law to hold up his hand. The son in law's hand looked like a bear paw next to the old man's hand. "So I just got used to using what was comfortable for me. And I don't like carrying a lot of weight around in my pocket."
The little girl picked up the peanut jack laying on the counter amid some fish guts and blood. She shifted the jigged brown delrin handle around in her small hand, then looked up at the old man.
"I like the way it feels too, grandpa." she said.
The fish all were fixed up with butter, poultry spice that contained thyme, rosemary, sage, marjoram, and black pepper, wrapped up in foil and baked. The large trout that the girl caught took a bit more bake time, but the baked trout dinner was a feast for all. After dinner, a campfire outside by the fire pit, and the little girl used her grandfathers peanut to cut a perfect marshmallow stick. The mountain night was chilly, and the little girl snuggled up to the old man in his lap as he smoked an evening pipe. She started to nod off, it being very long day.
"Grandpa, when will I get my own knife? " she asked after a big yawn.
The girls mother sitting next to them looked over.
"Oh, I think it may be a while yet. Like maybe when you're a a lot older." she said.
"I don't know, Jess, I think it may be sooner, seeing how she's going to be a heck of a fisher lady." the old man responded.
The old man felt something drop in his lap, and it was his closed peanut that the girl had been holding, feeling the texture of the jigging and admiring it in general. Her head slumped on his chest, and she had fallen fast asleep, and the little knife had fallen from her hand. His daughter came over and gently picked her up and carried her inside to put to bed, and the old man sat there in the dark by the dying fire and thought about the little girls question about when she was going to get her own knife.
"Maybe very soon." the old man muttered to the night. "Maybe sooner than than you think."
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