Thompson Peak by Cirrus

Thompson Peak by Cirrus - August 2026 Scholarship Essay

The big tires on my dad's lifted truck carried us up and over the Thompson Peak mountain in Northern California. The roads were unpaved and steep with no service, but my dad had a trusty map to guide us through branch-covered paths.There was a treasure on the other side of the mountain known as Antelope Lake. The water was clear, cold, and vast, but perfect for fishing. At least we thought it would be. Our first time fishing together in years; the sun cast down right where we cast our line. The lake was shimmery and blue, but you could clearly see the plants and rocks sitting around the waters’ sandy floor.
Unfortunately, no fish to be seen. After at least 30 minutes of catching sticks and pondweeds, we're losing sunlight, and I still don't feel comfortable casting my line. We recollect, gather our supplies and move our ride to the opposite side of the peninsula in a large patch of reeds, sand, and trees. My dad walks ahead to a deeper and darker body of water. The fish rippling around show much more energy around here. As we saw the catfish head poke out of the water into the light, some hope was restored, but my heart felt heavy knowing of the long way back. We have to jump to a large rock hovering above the water line to even get a good cast, having to stand up and wait for the fish to come to us. I remember the squirmy worm lure attached to my hook. I wonder what fish could possibly fall for this plastic replica, but as it dropped into the water it transformed into a real swimming worm, ready to be eaten by a majestic trout.
Eventually, my dad caught the first fish of the day as red already burst through the sky. On the other hand, my hook was lost, my line was getting stuck, and I decided the fish didn't like me, and it was time to leave. My dad wouldn't stop though. Even after I had returned to the car for a short period, he remained patient, and begged for my patience by constantly saying “just 10 more minutes.”
By 8:30pm I felt tired and unaccomplished, convinced these fish just didn't like me. Still, I gave the fishing rod another chance. My dad points me in the right direction, understanding my doubt in myself. He caught a fish with my rod almost immediately, striking even more doubt in myself, but I kept going just to see what would happen. The best thing I learned that day was to pop my fishing rod to attract the fish. I had a better grip and I knew how to hook the fish now. Although I hadn't caught a fish on my own, my confidence grew. I knew what I had to do now. Just be patient, and listen to all the beautiful worldly sounds around me. Crickets creaking, frogs croaking, the waves subtly crashing against the sand, all was calm for a while. “Pop pop pop" I'd say to myself as I drug the lure before these carpys faces. One would bite if I had patience. Then, one did bite, and pulled and struggled, until I brought up my first fish in years for my dad to take a photo of. I learned the way of the rod and improved my skills in a matter of a couple hours. Not only that, but I caught and released three carpys that night. I felt blessed to go home to the light fading in the distance.