One cloudy day, my grandpa and I headed to the hatchery in Bury, by the church. We go there to fish speckled trout. I have had lots of experience fishing with my grandpa. When we got there a woman asked my grandpa for two dollars and showed us where we could cast our lines. When we could to our section of the pond, we let our lines rip and waited patiently for a bite. Around the pond I could see: white dandelions, black pine tree reflecting against the water, fish bursting and spattering out of the wet mossy basin.
All of a sudden, I felt a tug and another, and another until there was a splash! The fish came out of the water with my hook lodged within his mouth. As soon as I saw that fish I just about fell over. To my surprise it was a 13-inch fish, my personal record. It was huge. As I snatched the fish, the sun popped out from beneath the haze and it was no longer cloudy. This day is particularly special to me because my grandpa is dead now. It is always a sad moment for me to remember, but a meaningful memory nonetheless.