Friday, February 5, 2010


... Fishing.

If I were more of a 'redneck' I'd have a bumper sticker that says, "I'd rather be fishing." And yes, I'd put it on my mini. I actually think people would get a laugh out of seeing a mini support such a bumper sticker. Most would agree, they'd rather be doing the same, fishing that is.

As I wrote yesterday, we lived within a stones throw of Keystone Lake. My Dad had the bass boat, the fishing buddy, the fishing paraphernalia and the passion. Once, I got to go on the boat fishing with him. That only happened once to my recollection, but I remember the feeling, smells, the excitement of getting to fish on a real boat, on water with my Dad. It was a nice leap from fishing on grass with the plastic 'practice thingy' on the end of my Snoopie pole.

My Dad gave me the tour of the lake, "Way back there is where I find Arrowheads. There is where the river came through before they dammed the lake. They say that at the bottom of this cliff there is Indian writing. There is also Indian writing in the cave, but it is all hidden under the mud...." And on he went with various facts that I absorbed like a sponge, hoping that if I remembered it all, maybe he'd ask me to be his fishing buddy and dump the other ol' geezer known as Roscoe P. Dyer.

My Dad spent his afternoons and weekends in his 'shop.' Looking back I realize this 'shop' was equivalent to what we now call a 'man cave.' It harbored a dart board, lure making devices, hammers, nails, wood, electric saws and the lawn mower. It also was the location where I would go to smell. The shop had a wonderful smell to it. Dad said the smell was the cut grass from the mower, I disagree, I think it was the wood mixed with gasoline.

I'd go to the shop to hang out with him. Once he gave me a tackle box! Oh I was so excited. As a bonus, he threw in some lures. I'd sit on the step, nasty toothbrush in hand and clean my lures. Hours would be spent cleaning and arranging my very own tackle box. The cleaning wasn't to rid of the fishy grime, it was something fun to do. I don't remember fishing again.

When I met Matt, we'd go out to Arcadia and he'd fish while I took pictures. He asked, "You want to fish." I'd tell him the same thing, "No." Deep down I secretly wanted to, but it was all to traumatic.

When we moved to the ranch, Matt caught a huge Bass. It was then I realized, I could do better. So Matt bought me a pole, one with the button you have to hold down. It was similar to the Snoopie pole from my youth except it was longer. The mechanics were the same; childish.

As I graduated from beginner and began catching bigger fish, I needed a tougher pole. Matt bought me my first 'real' pole.

Years later, it is something we absolutely love to do. We could and have fished from 8pm to 8am. So much fun. Not sure we could do that now due to our age. I am 30 ya know.

But I have this guy to thank for being my best fishing buddy. He never complains when I ask him to grab me a minnow, help me tie my line OR most importantly, "Will you please take the catfish off the line," because he knows I won't touch a talking fish with whiskers.

Happy Fishing.

1 comment:

For Christ's love compels us, because we are convinced that one died for all, and therefore all died. -Corinthians 5:14