Fishing with Pappy page 3

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40 Years of Nothin' Pappy's loved fishin' since he was a wee lad, having done so at day camp one summer, in a small pond teeming with little bread eaters. This fascination led to the reading of all the magazines and books I could find on the subject, and me father, recognizing this, purchased all the necessary components of the venture so as to take his boy fishing. Since I have only one early memory of the man ever purchasing fishing paraphernalia, i assume he owned at least some of the stuff we would need, as i remember him talking to a clerk at a Penn fishing outlet about a reel he would then buy. We fished reservoirs looking for musky, rivers for trout, piers for mackerel, boats for blues, lakes for bass, and even went ice fishing once. In all those years of fishing the only memory I have of success was hauling in a bait stealing blue crab from a very high pier in Maryland, or Delaware, I think. Some years ago I searched for information on that lofty pier, learning sadly of it's closure due to weathering and subsequent structural degradation. Even through this early base failure, my fascination blossomed to all things associated with fishing, especially lures. Colorful, shiny, imaginative, innumerable design variations, I wanted them all, and being a monkey-brain in my youth, didn't care how i got them. I am ashamed to admit that all that existed in what little sense of the world i had was, "i want that" and "gimme," and the ultimate expression of that was shoplifting. Pappy Learns A Hard Lesson My parents enjoyed very much making the occasional road trip to the closest large shopping mall, which to me was a wonderland of opportunity. There were three stores that sold fishing stuff, discovered happily and easily, marked by the tell-tale distant aisle displaying fishing poles which towered above everything else in the store. Though a monkey, i was a clever monkey, and exited each store regularly with at least one prize attained through socially deviant behavior. I amassed quite a nice collection over some number of months and always looked forward to stealing more. until i didn't. I sported a large goose-down jacket in winter months, which was ideal for stashing ill-gotten items, and on my last criminal lure expedition, i was trying to look casual, leaning on a column, staring at a wonderful, arched, Heddon lure, which would soon be mine. I waited and waited until i didn't feel eyes on me any longer, and made my move, slickly pocketing the treasured item in the right pocket of my jacket. Making my way out of the store, i headed for the bathroom to inspect the booty, and once in the stall, I had one of those feelings you get when something bad is gonna happen. Reacting to this ominous portent, I then transferred the lure, just stolen, from the right pocket to the left, and still feeling nervous, made my way out of the stall and bathroom. Walking down the hall, I saw a man approaching me, and he stared at me with grave intent. My abdomen clenched. They had me. "I saw you stealing a fishing lure." he offered forcefully, stopping my progress with intent and arm raised. I just stared blankly, too scared to move. "In that pocket!" he pointed to my right pocket. I emptied the pocket, revealing a handful of pennies. "I was just seeing how much money i had, mister." I replied, meekly. "Oh." His demeaner changed immediately, his posture straightening, and he moved back a half step. "I'm sorry." As he walked away, i knew i was done. That man, doing his job, feeling shame for accosting a young boy, had no idea of the impact he had on me. He changed me, made me realize i had limitations, and there were consequences to these untoward, selfish actions. He scared the shoplifting out of me. This didn't make my brain significantly bigger, as I still went on to make horrible and self-defeating decisions, but fewer.	Fishing With My Pappy I learned pretty early that i was gonna have to be the one to set up everything. I would rig up my dad's rod, hand it to him, then turn my attention to me own rig, and don't you know, the moment i turn back, both his hands were covered in fishing line, looking like he was tied up for kidnapping. I would then clear his backlash, rig him back up, and the same thing would happen again. No wonder I never caught anything, i was always attending to his stuff. I'd say he was all thumbs, but that would be a lie. My Dad was all heart. whatever little space was left was, however, thumbs. Whilst we were fishing, he would inevitably stop and find a stranger to talk to. At times, it felt like he didn't like being with me, as he wandered off, and when i expressed this to him as an adult, he admitted with some light chagrin that he didn't really like to fish. My father endured countless trips through every kind of inclement weather, to do something he knew he wouldn't enjoy, for hours and hours and hours, just to please me. Seasick On two occasions, my father took me out on a boat to deep sea fish with a bunch of strangers in boots and who brought their own stuff, even though the boat had stuff for everyone in attendance. These were real fishermen. The boat stunk like dead fish and diesel exhaust unless you were in a gust of wind away from it. My dad puked when we were 20 feet from the dock. trip was 6 hours. I think he threw up the whole time. The second time (or maybe it was the first) we went out on a small boat fishing for mackerel out of Maine. We were on our way to Canada, I remember, and he made this side trip just for me. The excursion itself was uneventful, except for two things; my dad caught the line of a another man on the boat who had hooked a mackerel. He claimed ownership to me later. The second event was surreal. The waves were rocking the small craft, and my dad suddenly lurched forward to the edge of the boat, leaning over and produced a cylinder of beige nastiness which exploded from his mouth, and simultaneously launched his eyeglasses off his face, and with his right hand, snagged them, mid-puke. It was a sight to see. I love my dad. Finally Catch A Keeper After 40 years of fishing, I finally caught a keeper Speckled Trout at Paul's Run, using a live shrimp. I couldn't even believe it, being so used to failure that it was an expectation, and then, same spot, next cast, i caught a snook! Too small, but any snook caught is reason to smile wide. they're crafty, fickle fish, and that is always one of our target species. I still don't catch too many keepers, but i catch a lot more fish now than i used to, for sure. And I never quit tryin.'
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