Morning Fishing

An old blaring alarm clock rung out into the dimly lit bedroom, rattling on a dusty bedside table as a hand reached over to shut it off, a deep, relaxed breath being heard from the man under the covers, as he let out a yawn, wasting no time to lapse back into sleep as he sat up, stretching and rolling his shoulders as the morning chill nipped his skin. Rubbing his eyes he turned to the window just behind his bed, parting the shuttered blinds with his fingers to stare out to the sea, watching the water flow in and out in a rhythmic tempo, looking up to see the whites over the horizon just before the sun came up. Perfect. Time to get ready for the day.


He stood up, feeling the aged floorboards creak beneath his feet as he strolled with a smile upon his face to the bathroom, to freshen up a bit before he went out to get in his leisure time before setting off to work. The bathroom, yet again had the sense of age and it was to be expected. A little shack like his in this little town of Dewford? It was to be expected. But it was small, comfortable, affordable and most importantly, was right next to the sea.


After his short shower, having to thump the shower head occasionally to get the hot water working again he began to suit up; white shirt, thick pants, boots and a red vest to keep him warm and protect him from the sea spray up on the docks. He thumped along the creaky wooden floor of his, picking up a small duffel bag full of the good stuff; tackle box full of old, faded hooks and other lures, a large sealed bag of organic bait, made from the finest berry mush and held together with a bit of Combee honey and a couple of empty Pokéballs, just in case. Never know when you’re going to catch your future partner-in-crime.


Taking a hat off it’s hook right by the door and an aged wooden rod in the corner, notched and held together with sticky tape into hand he stepped outside, feeling the cool Dewford air, smelling the salty spray and feeling the sand beneath his boots. He took a moment to relish the sounds, listening to the gentle cries of the Wingulls not too far off the coast before slipping on his hat, rubbing the stubble on his chin and setting off towards the nearby dock.


Dewford was a peaceful town, one almost disconnected from the rest of Hoenn if it weren’t for their local star Brawly, one of the main reasons they drew any attention in the first place. Not that it was a bad thing. It was great for business! Trainers and tourists would come to train and battle with Brawly and those not necessarily trainers would be merely happy with getting the chance to meet him. Even Steven, the previous champion of Hoenn visited every once in awhile. Excites the children every time he visits.


Stepping up the steps of the dock, he began to walk over the maintained boards, sturdy and strong, much unlike his floor and aimed right for the end of the pier, setting down his bag in the dim light before dawn. This time was the best time to fish, at least for him. Got him outside, got his leisure time before work out of the way… while this technically was still work, he enjoyed it too much to be considered. He sat down, swinging his legs over the edge and began to prepare his rod, checking his hooks before threading on a small chunk of the mushy bait, winding up his swing and casting out to sea.


Deep breath in… smell that salty sea air… deep breath out.


It really was peaceful out here. The quiet, the gentle isolation and the sound of the waves. Just him and his rod, waiting for the Magikarp to bite. The fish and chip store wasn’t going to supply itself after all and freshly battered Magikarp fillet was widely popular among the locals and the trainers that visited. It was best to get the produce while he was doing what he loved, early in the morning without bothering anyone and anyone bothering him. When the world wakes up, the boats just start coming in… makes it very disruptive for him and others. He wouldn’t want others to be around if he accidentally fished up a Tentacool! That happened once for him and he smirked at the memory. His body stung for days afterwards. Good times.


He waited patiently, closing his eyes to enjoy the gentle sea breeze as he held his rod firmly, the sound of wings beating coming closer and landing behind him. Raising an eyebrow he opened an eye, peeking behind him, seeing a small Wingull hopping up behind him, moving slowly and curiously as it investigated him, moving along to his side. He watched carefully, with interest etched on his face as it began to look at his tackle box, snooping around before it found the bag of bait, poking at it with its long beak. He smiled, chuckling and shaking his head as he dipped his hand into the bag, pulling out a large chunk of the stuff and resting it in front of the friendly bird. It looked at it inquisitively for a few moments before beginning to peck away at it, squawking happily between pecks at the fisherman. With a smirk, he reached forward with a free hand to gently scratch the top of its head, the small bird leaning into it. What a good little companion. His mind crossed over to the Pokéballs in his bag, but… nah, he wasn’t quite ready for a pal. Maybe if he comes back next time…


The water began to dance with flecks of light, snapping him out from his thoughts as he and the Wingull turned to face the rising sun in the east, beautiful golden morning rays cutting through the water and shining on the rocks, the distant sight of Pokémon swimming through the ocean bringing a sense of calm to him. He loved this, watching the sunrise every morning, getting mesmerised with the vista alone…


The bird squawked, bringing him out of his tranquility, initially confused but quickly realised at what the Wingull was looking at; the line was taut on the fishing rod! He had gotten a bite!


In a split second he snatched up his rod, clambering onto his feet and began to fight against the beast, reeling in as fast as he could as the rod bent to dangerous angles, almost if it could snap at any moment yet it held, his trustworthy companion over the years not letting him down now. With a whoop, planting his feet down in a strong battle-ready stance he continued to reel, adrenaline pumping through his blood as the Wingull cried, cheering him on over the sound of the water. This was the joy of fishing! Today was going to be a good day!