It should come as no surprise to regular readers of this column that I like to fish.

Some of you may recall an earlier account describing my youthful and ultimately successful quest to hook a lobster on a hand line. 

Clearly I’m not picky about my gear or the species of fish I catch. If it has fins (or even a pair of claws) I’m on board, or on the shoreline or dock, as the case may be.

Of the saltwater varieties, I’ve managed to land everything from mackerel to flounder, including oddities like cunner, sculpin, dogfish and the occasional eel or squid. My fresh water experience runs to common varieties of bass, perch and pickerel. 

When I was old enough to follow the necessary arcane rituals involved, my dad taught me about fly-fishing, the better to lure the wily brook trout to my line. Alas, thus far that species has proven too wily to fall (or jump) for my amateurish fly-casting attempts. 

Nevertheless, I continue to enjoy fishing.

So upon learning that my youngest sister-in-law was an angler, I naturally assumed that fishing would be a fun activity we could enjoy together. That naive notion evaporated on our very first fishing trip.

I quickly discovered that going fishing with Charlotte is like going bird watching with St. Francis of Assisi. I mean, let’s say that by some miracle you didarrange for such an outing, just you and old St. Francis hiking into the pucker brush with your binoculars and a well worn “Peterson Field Guide.”

You, of course, would be expecting to watch the birds. The birds on the other hand, vast flocks of them no doubt, would presumably be arriving from miles around to hang out with their special pal the Saint.

That’s pretty much what it’s like to spend a few hours angling with my sister-in-law Charlotte, the fish whisperer.

I’ll give you an example. The following is a factual account of a morning I spent fishing with my sister-in-law.

The fish whisperer was visiting us in Maine and we spent some time at our camp in Washington County. We’re on a lake known for its excellent bass fishing. Early one morning, we tossed our gear in the boat and headed for a secluded cove where I’d always had pretty good luck in the past.

We dropped anchor, baited our hooks, cast our lines and commenced that age-old angler’s pastime: waiting for a nibble.

It seemed to me that everything was going well. We actually got quite a few nibbles and even landed a couple of fish in the first hour or so. But I could tell that my sister-in-law was less than thrilled, so I asked her if anything was bothering her.

She responded by asking if I minded her offering a few suggestions about my fishing technique.

Ever the good host I told her by all means, offer away.

What happened next unfolded like a scene from one of those kung fu movies wherein the ancient and venerated master shows all the acolytes why he’s boss and they’re not.

Sitting trance-like in the center of the boat, eyebrows furrowed, eyes flashing, the fish whisperer methodically surveyed the cove. 

Having decided upon a course of action she abruptly lifted an oar and sculled us about six feet closer to shore, stopped, peered into the depths as if consulting a submerged crystal ball, then moved the boat another foot and half to starboard and dropped anchor.

She then commenced to dictate exceptionally precise instructions regarding hook size, bobber and worm placement, depth, drift angle and god knows what else. All I can say is that I did exactly what she said to do and the results were amazing.

Within seconds we each had a whopper bass on the line and for the next two hours the fish kept coming at a staggering rate. I always follow a catch-and-release policy. But the fish whisperer took it a few steps further. Her approach was more like catch-unhook-photograph-kiss-and-release!

Yep. Not only does she keep a precise written and photographic log of each fish she’s caught and where she caught it (sort of like Facebook only underwater) she also gives each one a gentle good-bye kiss before releasing it.

Laugh all you want. We hauled in 67 fish before lunch and although all bass look pretty much alike to me, I suspect that there were a few that morning who went for the hook a second or even a third time in order to spend a few more precious moments with the fish whisperer!