As I progressed in my fishing skills, I also diversified my fishing circle. I discovered Golf course ponds, stocked ponds, and pay to fish ponds. Besides Mendenhall’s farm pond, my favorite fishing location had to be the ponds at Willow Creek Golf Course. Not only could you catch a ton of fish in the course ponds, there was a large creek (Willow Creek) which weaved the entire length of the course. Even though that is not the correct geographical name, Willow Creek, would surprise you with feisty pan fish. It was a good day when you caught fish from both bodies of water, and maybe saw a resident banded water snake, which was a Cottonmouth Moccasin to a 10 year old. Not to give away all my secrets, but a blue and white floating Rapala minnow, and a rooster tail would keep you busy all day long.
When I was in High School and swimming competitively, I would spend my nights out at these ponds frog gigging or cat fishing. Good way to keep out of trouble and have a lot of fun at the same time. My hobby caught on, and we would have a dozen or so swimmers fishing for cats, or strolling the banks for frogs.
Tyson
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| Me & Poppy |
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| I actually caught these fish with my dad in 76' You thought I was kidding about the hurricane jacket |
A trip to Poppy’s pond always came with a trip to a little bait and tackle shop for crickets. There were only two shops at that time and almost as interesting as the doodads in the store were the dudes hanging out around the store. Somebody always had a toothpick in their mouth, and no matter what time it was, there was always someone holdn’ a 40 in a sack. Of course I didn’t know what a 40 was at the age of five or six, but it wouldn’t be long.
We would get fifty or so crickets in two little wire cages, and a box of worms. The crickets and worms would go in the back seat on the floor where they would stay cool. In the trunk would be two folding chairs, five or so rods and reels, a green bottom crème top tackle box, a cardboard box of various fishing lures, a green five gallon bucket, and the whole thing smelled like plastic worms.
Now if you’re a fisherman, you know that smell, and when you smell it, it usually comes with the smell of lake water or ocean spray. They go together like peas and carrots. If the smell hits you, like on a rainy day while you’re cleaning fishing gear, you won’t be satisfied till you cast a line in the water. It’s kind of like smelling a fresh cooked apple pie, planning on having a piece after dinner, and then finding out after dinner that it was cooked as a gift for someone else and its already gone.
So…thirty minute drive to the farm, drive between the chicken houses, open the cattle gate (ELECTRIFIED CATTLE GATE this is important for a future story) down the hill, over the creek, up the next hill, through the pasture, and just over the hill you could make out the Holy Grail of farm ponds. Sneaky large mouth bass, not seen on every trip. A plethora of bream to irritate even the most patient of fishermen. A famous yet uncatchable giant catfish named
Upon arrival, the two chairs would be set up side by side, the two cricket baskets set up, one under each chair, and the worm box in between. I can’t remember a cooler ever being there back in those days, but I can tell you now; if the fishing trip is one in which a folding chair is involved, there is usually a cooler there big enough to hide two small kids in.
Poppy’s lake was bobber fishing at its finest. No standing, no need to even leave your seat. Just reach down, grab a cricket, bait the hook, and overhead cast. No sweat right? WRONG! Five year olds can see fishing bobbers move in paintings. I think five year olds think if the bobber is in the water there is a fish on. This theory is not easy on bait. Five year old’s cricket baskets empty quicker than a bowl full of jelly beans at Easter, sooooooo. Five year olds have to get out of their chair and walk around the back of the chair next to them and steel a few crickets every now and then.
Now the grass at Poppy’s lake is tall; shoulder tall if you’re five. Every now and then on your back cast, the hook would get stuck on some tall grass. No problem, you just yank it even harder, it comes loose, and you can cast the line.
Well on this particular day, a particular five year old was steeling crickets when on a back cast Poppy thought he had gotten stuck on some grass. Actually it was the five year old’s head, and when he yanked even harder he set the hook in my scalp. Now it didn’t hurt because there are not many nerves in your scalp. (Go ahead, make a hard head comment, I’m used to it.) Buddy that hook was stuck and stuck good, comlete with bait and all. Now I wasn’t freaking out, but he was. He knew my mom was going to kill him if she found out about that hook in my head.
There was talk of going to the hospital, the doctor, home, etc. but I wasn’t having any of it. That hook was coming out and coming out now. We were fishing and we had just started. Poppy wanted to take me to the doctor, but I wouldn’t let him. I told him it didn’t hurt and for him to get it out, so he went to get his pliers. It must have looked pretty funny. I was in the chair and he was standing behind me working on my head like a barber by the lake.
I think it was a thin wire hook and he straitened it out and yanked on it instead of pushing it through, but he got it out. It may have taken an hour, but he got it out. We fished the rest of the day and got a bottle root beer on the way home. It was a few days before I let the cat out of the bag, but there weren’t any repercussions.
I guess you could say fishing was in my blood, literally.
Brain
