A Memorable Fishing Trip in South Korea

I'm not a natural lover of fish, I'll admit. I grew up in a mixed household, with a loud Korean mother who fed me a lot of fish. Fish on top of rice, fried fish, spicy fish, fish soup, crispy fried fish, slimy fish, fish with your spaghetti--she did it all. Heck, she even fished in her youth, with a drunken father and one big, expansive Korean sea. She told me she'd take me to Korea someday to go fishing, and we could have raw fish afterwards with my drunken grandfather. To be frank, I wanted nothing to do with it. Mother kept her word, however: we left in June 2005, one week after I graduated from high school.

Grandfather Goes Alone
Now this wasn't your typical trip. This trip was full of beer, loud Korean relatives, raw fish, and a grandfather who liked to pee in the sea. Our destination was Sokcho, a city by the Sea of Japan, Seorak-san Mountain, and North Korea. It's a beautiful place, if you forget the fact that Kim Jong Il's hairdo is an hour away, or that people are starving to death nearby.

We made it to Sokcho by noon. It was humid, but the sea cooled it considerably. My grandfather grabbed his gear--a casting pole, some worms, and a bottle of Soju--and headed to the docks. My hairy uncle Young-Jo was buying some fish, raw cuts of fish on a platter with spicy sauce. My relatives scooped up the slimy portions while I stared at my grandfather, who decided it was time to relieve himself, on the docks surrounded by people.

I wasn't having any of the fish so my mom took me to a restaurant nearby. I ate kim-bap with chopsticks. She just stared.

"We'll leave your grandfather there for today," my mom said.
"Today?"
"Yes, for today."

You see, my grandfather had this habit of doing this alone. He's done this for ages, sitting on the rocky shores of Sokcho all day, gulping down Soju like water. My grandmother would leave for Seorak-san and pick him up in the evening, drunk and barely coherent. My mom recounted many tales of my grandfather's drunkeness during the years, including the one tale of him, a boat, leaping fish, and too much Soju--that tale is best left untold, though.

I finished up my kim-bap as my grandfather set up his rod.

Nightly Sokcho
While my grandfather was content doing that all day, I was more content on eating. We spent most of our day at Seorak-san, spitting into river streams (this was my uncle's idea) and visiting the Buddhist shrine. Unlike the beautiful brown rivers in my homestate of Minnesota, the rivers here were clear with actual fish swimming in it. Actual fish! The rivers in here in Minnesota had fish too, but they were bordering on death, perhaps radioactive.

We picked up my grandfather during sunset. He was alone, drinking Soju, sitting on a lone rock. He didn't catch any fish, I should note--it's hard to catch fish when you're busy drinking yourself to oblivion. We took him back to the hotel by the ocean, a huge place where the rooms smelled like ocean water. I remember eating a late supper with my mother and my grandfather, although vaguely because I had some Soju myself. Somewhere in this conversation my mom must've brought up the subject of fishing, because the next morning she shook me furiously.

"Get up! You, time to fish!"
"What?"

Hardcore Fishing
Yes, I did go fishing. My mom woke me up, told me to get pretty, and we went out to the beach. This was a real fishing adventure, you see, nothing like the fishing game I played in Zelda: Ocarina of Time. An actual excursion out to the ocean, wooden rod and all, can of worms to keep me company. Okay, I thought, maybe it won't be so bad. Maybe I'll like it!

Now by the tone of things, you can tell it didn't turn out well. I'll spoil you by saying that I love to fish now, but my experience here wasn't pleasant. I'll clue you in on two important details: I don't like swimming and I have bad balance.

We headed out to the dark, murky parts of the ocean, where the dock was built. Wooden rods hung on the rails nearby with fish nibbling at the worms, old men talking with their brown hats, engaged in discussion. We went to the end, where it was more shallow, and my grandfather gave me a rod. My mother sat on the edge, nibbling some kim-bap. The docks were surrounded by huge, blue rocks so I thought about sitting there. I did.

I held my mighty wooden rod back. I held in my stomach.

Ready...

And I threw it! I cast it! I watched the line explode its way towards the water, impaled worm fleeing to its shallow grave.

It hit the rock. Damn.

"Cast again!" my mom yelled.

Okay, I thought. Maybe if I lean forward and cast it really hard, it'll go into the water. Maybe if I walk down to the next set of rocks, maybe I'll actually hit it.

Now this was a stupid idea for two reasons. For one thing, it rained during the night. For another thing, these rocks were smooth. I slipped. I slipped butt first. I slipped, lost my rod, and managed to injure myself. My mom screamed, my leg felt funny, and I laid on the rocks crying. Like a baby. I couldn't do a simple thing such as casting because I fell, twisted my foot, and spent the rest of my trip limping.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, that was my first fishing adventure. I attempted to fish and I injured myself. Only a girl could do this. After this unfortunate event I vowed to fish again, to prove I could cast a rod without nearly killing myself. I did when I visited northern Minnesota a year later. I cast my rod proudly, wrangling in a decent-sized fish. I'm a real fisherman now, guys. Watch out.