By Harrison Leben

Right now I am sitting on the Andaman Islands, in India, and we just got done fishing. The Andamans are these islands that belong to India, but are way out in the bay of Bengal, actually closer to Myanmar than to India itself, and we have been fishing and staying on Havelock island. The water here is so clear it feels like we have been fishing in the sky for the past 5 days and it has been a very unique experience to say the least. I came hoping to catch the Giant Trevally (or GT) which is basically the most famous fish you can catch out here. Even though I never got the opportunity to catch one I watched it be caught first hand by my good friend Will and he was groaning so hard it sounded like he was pulling up a mule. But even sitting here right now, still on the island, I feel like the trip means something even though I didn’t catch my trophy, and the more I think about it the more it connects me to home even though I am half way across the world. 

The thing that surprised me the most during our first week out here was how familiar everything felt in such a foreign environment. I thought being this far away would feel totally out of place, but the way the day goes is the same as fishing back home. There is an early wake up, getting the gear ready, sitting around being patient, and just waiting. The guys on the boat are fairly similar to the mates at home. When a line goes tight every one gets excited, when a fish gets away everyone groans, and when someone almost has it we all laugh. It’s kinda crazy that thousands of miles away from home, out here at the Andaman islands, I feel the exact same way I do on a quiet morning fishing at home.

The Trevally never showed up. I hooked some stuff and lost some stuff and stared at the water for hours hoping it would finally happen, but it just did not. By the end of today I had to accept that I am here without the fish I came for. At first it bummed me out, but the more I think about it the more I realize the fish was never the point. The point is everything around it, the people, the place, the waiting, and the story I am going to get after all. I am actually very grateful I am here, and grateful it did not go perfectly, because honestly catching it right away would not have taught me as much as  long GT less days (watching other people catch them) did.

Reflecting on this has helped me think about more than just being OK with not catching a fish. I have started thinking about how everybody is kind of doing the same thing all the time. Everyone is out on their own version of that boat, chasing their own giant Trivalys, whatever that means for them. The fishermen here on Havelock island have their stories. The first person who taught me how to fish my dad could tell you a million. Even strangers I will never meet have theirs. We are all basically telling the story of our own lives while we live them, taking the random things that happen and turning them into stuff that actually means something. 

And all those little stories connect into something way bigger. My trip out here is just one tiny piece, but it ties into this huge pattern of people across the world and across history who have all come to these islands to fish these amazing waters and tell everyone what happened. So when I am out on that boat I’m not just on some vacation. I am a part of this odd shared story about hoping for something, working for it, and being okay with coming home with just a memory. The GT is still out there in the ocean, but the story is coming home with me, and I think that is the real catch.