Landing the fish seems to take forever, me holding the rod arched toward the boat, the fish still unseen. Fighting the line, which is all I have to hold him. Finally I understand The Old Man and the Sea as something more than literature. Dip, reel more line, pull. My right hand aches.
Labor is the base line of physical exertion for every woman.
This is shorter, maybe five minutes in all, but five hard and time-stopping minutes. Slowly, slowly the giant fish rises through 65 feet of water, through the layers of darkness and the fluctuations of pressure, from the coolness of seepage springs toward the warmth of Southern summers. I feel him 10 or 15 feet below the boat, and I am fighting now, the rod tucked beneath my arm, pulling with my body. They have to fight their whole life to adjust to it. They have to lead normal lives with 100,00 gallons of fresh water rolling downstream at them.