Beech Tree News Network

On Sunday, Garey and I took our granddaughter, Sabria, fishing in a friend’s lake.  It was the first time she was able to hook a fish and reel it in by herself.  She was so pleased.  It was wonderful.  I remember that feeling.  I caught my first fish on a cane pole.  With a quick jerk of the line, I flung it back over my head where it was knocked unconscious on the river bank.
    There is something magical about catching fish, and most people don’t outgrow that excitement.  It has to do with casting a line into the unknown and pulling out a prize.  For me, it’s akin to the feeling I got as a kid at the fall festival, when I threw a line over a white sheet and pulled back a Cupie Doll or a plastic shrunken head. 
    My dad loved to fish, so it became a family past time for him and my step mom to load all us kids up and head to nearby Salt River for the day.  We’d take Beanie Weanies and Vienna sausages, some crackers and those pink cream-filled sugar cookies, our fishing poles, and worms we’d spent all morning digging, and off we’d go.
    Dad would always set up two poles for himself, one he’d stick in the river bank and the other he’d hold on to.  I remember many a time watching him go from one pole to another, throwing down one pole to grab the other pole that had hooked a big catfish.  There were a few times, he’d have fish pulling on both lines, and how he did it I’ll never know, but he always seemed to be able to land both fish.  Once, he even dove into the river to grab a massive catfish that broke the line right at the river bank.  That’s one of my favorite memories.
    My stepmom was the one who taught us to bait a hook and cast a line.  She was also the one who got the line free when we got it tangled in some low-hanging branches of a tree at the river’s edge.  Watching Garey with Sabria on Sunday reminded me of her.  Garey unsnagged her line from some stumps submerged beneath the water and baited her hook time and again after small fish stole her bait.  He, like my stepmom, didn’t get to do much fishing, but he just beamed every time Sabria pulled in a fish.  I am so thankful for that day and that memory, unlike another fishing memory, I’d like to forget.
    I went fishing on the Warrior River in Alabama with Garey’s family once, and only once.  This was years ago, before our children were born.  Because they ran trot lines, the Hughes family fished at night.  One Saturday at dusk, we loaded up the truck with fishing gear, food and drinks then headed for the river.  I had no idea we were spending the night or I would have brought a jacket, at least—it gets cool on the river at night. 
    That night on the Warrior River is number one on my top ten most miserable life experiences.  Let me explain.  Garey and his dad got into the boat in order to paddle up and down the river checking trot lines.  The location wasn’t conducive to fishing from the bank—lots of snags and overhanging trees.  I tried for a bit, but grew tired of cutting lines and losing hooks.  By the time Garey and his Dad returned, it had grown dark, so Garey’s mom, sister and I had built a campfire.  It did little to deter the mosquitos from feasting on my exposed limbs, but it knocked off some of the chill.
  Earlier, Garey had promised me there would be coffee.  There was.  His dad brewed the concoction in a large tin can hung over the campfire.  I had to strain the coffee grounds through my teeth, but at least it was hot, so it provided a bit of comfort.  Garey’s dad stretched out a large piece of plastic on the ground and lay down on it as he prepared to get some shut-eye.  That’s when it dawned on me that the plastic was to be our bed for the night.  I lay down with the rest of the family, trying to forget about all the bugs biting me and trying not to imagine what other creatures were slithering nearby.  My rear end had begun to itch as I lay trying to remember how many leaves the plant contained that I used as toilet paper earlier, and the “Leaves of three, let it be” phrase kept running through my mind. 
I’ve never been one to make deals with God, but I did that night.  I went something like: If you will let me live till morning, I will never ever do this again.  He did.  I kept my promise.  I make it a rule to only fish during daylight hours.