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“Come back and help me land this fish,” my brother called out. Fat chance, I’m running to the house as fast as my 4-year-old legs will go. I have to tell mother WE caught a big fish. Unfortunately, while I was gone the fish came unhooked.
I didn’t know it then but that first encounter with a fish in our barnyard pond would make a lasting impression.
As a youngster in Northeast Missouri our family spent many hours fishing and enjoying nearby rivers and oxbows. Sometimes on warm, sunny days we would fish the river and picnic on a sand bar.
We didn’t have rods and reels; instead we used fresh-cut river willows and tied the line to their tips. For lunch we roasted hot dogs on short willow sticks after trimming away the bark. Hot dogs always tasted better on a riverbank, especially when mixed with the aroma of burning wood.
I remember fishing an oxbow with Uncle Nova and a fish kept stealing my nightcrawlers. My uncle tried catching the elusive fish and after a few unsuccessful attempts he proclaimed its mouth was too big for the hook. You can imagine how that motivated me; I spent the whole afternoon trying to catch that fish.
Years later I realized it was a small bluegill that couldn’t be caught because the hook was actually too large for its mouth, but the challenge had kept me interested in fishing the whole day.
As a teenager, dad, my brother and I used to fish rivers and lakes in northern Illinois. Occasionally we spent the night and slept on a riverbank or in the car.
One spring evening, the temperature dropped dramatically so we built a fire to stay warm. Unfortunately we had to change positions every 15 minutes to keep all of our body parts warm – a tactic that seriously interfered with sleep. Bacon, eggs and potatoes fried over an open fire the next morning made us forget the cold, sleepless night.
Sleeping in the car was no guarantee of warmth either; on one trip to a nearby lake, several inches of snow fell during the night creating an eerie white glow on the windows. At daybreak, we ended the fishing trip and headed for the friendly confines of a warm bed.
My parents moved back to Missouri and I stayed in Illinois to become rich and famous. Neither happened but I met Marjorie and we were blessed with three delightful daughters. Early in our marriage, we couldn’t afford resort vacations so we visited my parents on a small farm where dad and I pestered the largemouth bass in nearby farm ponds.
“Come back and help me land this fish,” my brother called out. Fat chance, I’m running to the house as fast as my 4-year-old legs will go. I have to tell mother WE caught a big fish. Unfortunately, while I was gone the fish came unhooked.
I didn’t know it then but that first encounter with a fish in our barnyard pond would make a lasting impression.
As a youngster in Northeast Missouri our family spent many hours fishing and enjoying nearby rivers and oxbows. Sometimes on warm, sunny days we would fish the river and picnic on a sand bar.
We didn’t have rods and reels; instead we used fresh-cut river willows and tied the line to their tips. For lunch we roasted hot dogs on short willow sticks after trimming away the bark. Hot dogs always tasted better on a riverbank, especially when mixed with the aroma of burning wood.
I remember fishing an oxbow with Uncle Nova and a fish kept stealing my nightcrawlers. My uncle tried catching the elusive fish and after a few unsuccessful attempts he proclaimed its mouth was too big for the hook. You can imagine how that motivated me; I spent the whole afternoon trying to catch that fish.
Years later I realized it was a small bluegill that couldn’t be caught because the hook was actually too large for its mouth, but the challenge had kept me interested in fishing the whole day.
As a teenager, dad, my brother and I used to fish rivers and lakes in northern Illinois. Occasionally we spent the night and slept on a riverbank or in the car.
One spring evening, the temperature dropped dramatically so we built a fire to stay warm. Unfortunately we had to change positions every 15 minutes to keep all of our body parts warm – a tactic that seriously interfered with sleep. Bacon, eggs and potatoes fried over an open fire the next morning made us forget the cold, sleepless night.
Sleeping in the car was no guarantee of warmth either; on one trip to a nearby lake, several inches of snow fell during the night creating an eerie white glow on the windows. At daybreak, we ended the fishing trip and headed for the friendly confines of a warm bed.
My parents moved back to Missouri and I stayed in Illinois to become rich and famous. Neither happened but I met Marjorie and we were blessed with three delightful daughters. Early in our marriage, we couldn’t afford resort vacations so we visited my parents on a small farm where dad and I pestered the largemouth bass in nearby farm ponds.
My biggest bass came from a small pond on one of those vacations. It fell victim to a frog-colored Lazy Ike lure rigged on a new Shakespeare rod and a Shakespeare WONDEREEL, Spincast Model 1770.
Of course that tackle wore out and was discarded years ago but I found a duplicate reel at an auction and a good friend found an identical replacement for the Lazy Ike. Now they are part of the nostalgia corner in my office.
While in Illinois, I was an Advisor to a bass fishing club. In that role I attended their monthly meetings, club tournaments and mentored new members – it was tough duty.
At one outing, the new angler assigned to me was having a very bad day. His lure supply was dwindling rapidly, falling victim to numerous tragedies that included brush above and below the water. I kept encouraging him and providing tips on how to use his remaining tackle.
While fishing a shoreline, I found an interesting lure and showed him some techniques for using it. On his next cast, he hooked a four-pound bass but while fighting it, his rod came out of the handle and slid down his line to the fish. Sadly the fish came unhooked but he managed to recapture the rod.
He looked skyward and said, “Okay, what’s it going to be, do I get to fish or are you going to mess with me all day?” In spite of his problems, that day he went on to become a very competent angler.
Fishing and an appreciation for the outdoors have always been a part of our family, with memories and traditions passed from ancestors to descendants.
A scholar once told me: “You are what you are when you were where,” meaning our value systems and traditions are established very early in life.
Growing up in a rural environment is part of my value system. The traditional farm chore responsibilities weren’t much fun but the opportunities for outdoor recreation made up for the hard work. My playground included the pastures, woods and ponds, and my playthings were the birds, animals and fish.
That is how I came to appreciate the outdoors and develop a fondness for fishing, in other words “I really am what I am because of where I was when.”
