To begin, we must start with the fundamental, the original memory, even if it glares in our vision.

It is spring or early summer in rural Oklahoma, everything verdant shades of green, the wind crisp and cool. My mother and I are at the park, which is really not much of a park, but instead an offshoot of the country lands that surround us. Still, it is ours, as much as anything can be. We, and the thirty or so other members of the Elm Grove Baptist Church, are gathered there for a church-sponsored fishing competition, in which I, too, am competing, even as shy as I am, even as strange as I am. There is something about the outdoors, about the spirits that make up the earth, that calms me, that stills the restless fear inside of me unlike anything, even a book, even the Ghost, has ever done before.

The pond, for it is a pond and not a lake, is not fit for swimming. There is moss crawling up to the shore, and it is filled with strange, mean ducks, and yet it still glimmers beautifully in the sun, it still smells of something dark and appealing, it is still surrounded by clean air and singing birds and the whisper of vegetal and loamy secrets.

My father is there, somehow, a little late, in his bandana and sunglasses and patterned shirt. He does not look like a respectable father, for he is too large, for he is in a permanent state of tipsy, if not drunkenness, for he laughs too loudly. For he is much darker than any of the other fathers there, his skin is copper, and beside him I look as if a pale imitation of color. And, of course, there are the facts surrounding him: that I do not know him, that I fear him, and that I want him to love me, even though somehow, though no one has ever said it, I know that this is an impossible wish, an embarrassing one.

Still, his big hands are gentle as they cover mine, yes cast this way, guided by your breath, yes settle into the grass for a bit, even though everyone else around you is standing, feel the sun-warmed earth, isn’t it a beautiful day. No, keep the rod, watch the bobber (see, the other children’s father’s yanking it from their hands, sighing deeply), I’ll tell you when to pull up, and then you’ll show me. You’re a natural; you’re just like me, wait, now set the hook. She brings us a lemonade to share. Is the cap dusty? Sure, but it is sweet like the drop of dew from the honeysuckle, like they say about manna in Sunday School. She is so beautiful it makes me sad to look at her, sometimes. Her eyes are green like everything in the world that I love. His eyes, behind the shades, are the color of dirt gone wet by the hot summer rain. Is that really what I look like? So alive? Even now, I think, because I am not there to see it, he will be walking through the woods. Even now, I think, there is no way he can be dead.

Oh, but I remember so little else, though I want to so deeply it aches. Only the Barbie tackle box I won, the most fish by a mile in my category. Only the pride in his gaze. Only the ghosts. Only after everyone else is gone, and I am left alone, that at least I will have one thing left.

For there will always be fishing.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 Get Hooked, on its face, is a six-part documentary series led by Faye Marsay (star of Adolescence) about, well, fishing. I can hear the non-nature inclined among you sigh, but, if you will, come along on this journey with me, because maybe I (and the delightful cast) can change your mind.

In this series, we are introduced to Faye, Emma, Vik, and SJ, four best friends who grew up in small towns where it wasn’t always easy to be queer. They love nature and being near water, and fishing is their safe space together. A space where they don’t see many women, or, as many of us can assume, anyone but cis white men. They have come to Ottawa, Canada not only to fish, but to learn and to experience, plus stay in a cozy cabin in the woods.

In my early watching, I could already tell something was different about this documentary, and for the better. The cast, on camera, holds a genuine warmth. Their love for each other, even when it isn’t expressed in words, is a presence on screen, a fifth castmate, if you will. SJ, especially, I felt connected to in that first episode. She expresses that she feels very lucky to travel, because she never thought it was possible, and like me neither. It feels like a dream come true every time I fly somewhere, much less am invited to attend an event. The gratitude each of them brings to this adventure speaks volumes about their characters. Even if we only know them a short while, we feel as if we are among them.

Each episode of Get Hooked follows roughly the same formula: We begin with a moment of centering from one of the main four, then transition into the car to travel to that day’s destination, with some gentle ribbing to whoever is driving. There, we meet our guide, go over our gear, learn about which fish we’ll be fishing, receive some teaching, and head to the water. After that, it’s a Polaroid picture, some reflection, and off to sleep in the cozy cabin.

Simple enough, no? But it is the way that the show handles the finer elements of destination, guide, gear, teaching, time on the water, and reflection that keeps the viewer compelled, even if you aren’t a fisherman, or have no previous interest in fishing at all. It is where magic, at least for me, is truly made.

On Destination

If you’re in North America, you’re on Native land. This is an inextricable fact. That said, I, like many other Indigenous people, tire of a land acknowledgement without backing, so I am very glad to report that Get Hooked does it the right way. Not only are the destination names where the cast will be fishing presented to you in their correct tongues, the series understands that there is no fishing without Indigenous people. This is demonstrated to us, among other things, through several Indigenous guides in several episodes (that they didn’t cram this history into one episode is another point in their favor). Right off the bat we learn that even the canoes we use today are based off Indigenous technology thousands of years old, and to always use the “never take the first, or the last” rule when it comes to fishing, harvesting, or any other kind of resource. We learn, too, that the cast has a respect for the beauty and power of the land they are on.

I was surprised by this, I’m a little ashamed to say. I am so used to defending the land I grew up on and around, the land of this country, to people who think it has no appeal, that it is ugly in a way only America can be, but I found none of this attitude in Get Hooked. What a beautiful thing, really.

On Guides

First off, I need the record to show that I would go fishing with every single one of the people on this show. That’s pretty high praise for me, someone who considers fishing not only spiritual, but sacred emotionally and culturally. Our guides are diverse, and they clearly love what they do, but they’re also good at what they do, even if the fish aren’t biting. This is another integral bit of wisdom ingrained in the series and repeated often: “It’s called fishing, not catching.” Though the group can get a little competitive, it is so friendly that one doesn’t even want to call it competition.

The guides in Get Hooked are truly stand out, from Demiesha Dennis who is challenging the ideas of who gets to occupy the outdoors, to Rick Klatt, a blind angler with a passion for bringing fishing to others, to Frank Learney, a Sixties Scoop survivor who works in drug rehabilitation.

It was an amazing thing indeed to see this variety of Canada’s anglers, as well as the way they cheered on this group of queer people, despite the disparate experiences involved, and the idea of so many existing prejudices. The series taps in and sustains, too, the social aspect of fishing. The conversations had on the shore and in various boats may be intermittent, but they are far from staged. There is genuine interest and back and forth here, the kind that can’t be faked.

On Gear

Visually, not just including the landscape, the show is deeply compelling. Interspersed with our clearly shot by a professional cameraman moments, we see footage from the old video camera the group hauls around, which echoes a sentimental thread throughout the series. Technology, though it connects us, is also a burden. To return to nature is to return to ourselves. There is no Googling, no (Instagram) reels, just a fount of community knowledge, and a respite from the pains of the world. As guide Emily O’Brien puts it: “Severing the tether to technology is a huge thing!”

Plus, there’s just some amazing graphics. Each time we get a round-up about our gear or fish, they are not just listed on screen, but they become kitschy and interactive. I’m thinking of a musky howling at the moon and a VHS tape listing in particular. I find this attention to detail particularly admirable given the indie nature of the series.

On Teaching

Teach a man to fish, the old adage starts. But how one teaches said man (or woman) to fish is more important to me than why. The guides in this series, as I have already mentioned, all have their strengths, there is not a weak one among them. They also possess, each of them, an abundance of perseverance and humor. You must, really, to be a good fisherman. There is a deep like and respect the group holds for each of their shifting guides, and their friendship, deeply held, shifts to accommodate the wonder of new learning, and new people, each time they interact with them.

Yes, sometimes (quite a bit actually) no one catches ANYTHING, but that’s not the point. There are no poor teachers OR poor students in Get Hooked, for what is being taught, and in turn learned, in each episode is not simply fishing, but a kind of etiquette for living.

Take, for example, in episode five, when the group is with Kenneth Tse (science teacher and fishing guide), who says: “You have to fish cooperatively. It’s a more enjoyable process for everybody.” Fishing, then, is not an individualist’s game, but a community endeavor, one that everyone should, and can, participate in.

On Time on the Water

Time on the water is perhaps the most vital and action-oriented part of the series. For what is a fish without water? Of course, not everyone owns a boat, or is even able to navigate the sometimes treacherous walk to the water. It is here that the series’ commitment to accessibility shines. There is no competition made out of who can get to the murkiest or fastest running water, but instead an acknowledgment of the possibilities of other venues, such as a public park. A public park is exactly where the group meets Rosie Jones, an award-winning comic and actor who speaks openly about her disability and mobility issues. Fishing with Rosie is the way we round out the series, both with laughter and no small amount of peace.

On Reflection (and Endings)

If I am to criticize anything about Get Hooked, it is its brevity. Of course, beauty lies in brevity, too, but I would have loved more time with the group and their guides. But, so it goes, and all things must end. Each of the four of our main cast gets their time to reflect, and in doing so we feel more connected to them through their vulnerability, such as Emma expressing their love of surfing, or Vik’s particular brand of quiet contemplation. It charges us to reflect, too. On our relationship with nature, yes, but also each other.

And, if I can leave you with anything, it is to remember that the fascists (if I may be so bold) want us disconnected. They want us alienated from the world around us. Get Hooked, though it does not explicitly state this with a political bent, does understand that our future is not AI or TikTok, but in the natural world around us and each other.

And hey, if fishing isn’t up your… river, that’s okay, too. Whether it is learning about local pollinators or going on a weekly litter round-up, we can all center steps to make a better, and queerer, future.

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All six episodes of GET HOOKED are streaming on OUTtv.com and AMI+.