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Fishing with Grandpa
By TR Wallace
Few things in this world compare to an afternoon out on the lake with your grandfather. And patience is measured in how long you get to stay out there. As a boy I had many such days with my grandfather out on Algonquin Lake in Michigan. Back then, 1967, things were a little different. Simpler to say the least, especially for a seven year old boy.
This particular trip was an opportunity for me to use the casting rod my grandfather had bought for me. Up to this point I had only used a cane pole, and had now graduated to the more impressive spinning rod. Over the previous weekend I had practiced in the yard casting the little lead weight my grandfather had tied to the end of the 20 pound test.
Fishing with my grandfather was ritualistic in many ways. A lunch packed by my grandmother to stave off starvation was where I generally started. Then after getting to the lake I would con my way into a couple quarters. This for a soda and some candy from the store by the boat launch. {And yes in 1967 you could buy a soda and a candy bar for less than fifty cents.} Once I had all my provisions we were ready to head out.
It was like a mini safari for me and as a seven year old I had my priority's too. But this trip my main priority was to catch a big fish on the magical new rod. The bigger the better, since my grandfather could always catch a big fish, even the scary looking bullheads.
So as the early morning mist sat low over the water we headed out, up the length of the lake. It was a long trip from the store to Indian Island where grandpa liked to fish. It seemed like hours, but I suspect that it really took about ten or fifteen minutes. Along the way I would have to drag my hand in the water, mess with the anchor, look through my lunch, and play in the bait can. All the while my grandfather would watch out the corner of his eye, while he sent smoke signals with his old briar pipe. When it started to get on his nerves he would simply say in a low tone, “Tommy stop messing with everything”. Funny but at that age you can smile your way out of almost any kind of trouble, except launching the boat without Grandpa. But that is another story.
Once we got close to he island grandpa's GPS would kick in as he carefully positioned the boat. Then he would give the highly awaited command to drop the bow anchor. My older cousins, girls, did this once without checking the anchor line. He did say toss the bow anchor, he didn't say anything about tying that new line to it. I always checked just in case. Back then nylon line was much more expensive than cord. Since cord would rot over time he changed the line annually. Plus since he was an old Navy salvage diver, he had taught me all my knots by the time I was seven. Anything he wanted to teach I was eager to learn.
So now came the words I had waited for and I tossed the anchor out as far as a seven year old could. When it landed making a big splash and Ka thunk sound. I turned smiling to see the old man rolling his eyes and shaking his head. He did that a lot.
After a half hour or so the terrified fish came back to the area and we started catching fish. Well he was catching fish I was giving a worms flying lessons. I couldn't resist using the casting rod, my first mechanical toy so to speak. I admit I was having a ball whipping that rod around and winding it back up.
Little did I know behind me there was an old man ducking and bobbing like a boxer. As that worm on the hook went whizzing by his head and face. He did say something a couple of times, but in my new found mechanical euphoria all I heard was praise.
Then as I went for cast number 722 I snagged something. Well I knew exactly what to do, give it a good jerk to free it. That is when a voice like thunder behind me yelled out “Tommy stop jerking on that thing”. Or something like that with some loud adult words for emphasis. At that I turned to see what had him all excited, as well as what I had caught.
To my surprise grandpa had an earring, one that featured a squirming red worm. I'm not sure what the signals coming out of his pipe were, but there was a blue cloud of Half and half circling his head as he pulled a little slack in the fish line. Of course I had to ask, “did I do that”?
Now this is where the fishing would have ended for most errant seven years old's. But not so, my grandfather was a tough old bugger. Carefully he cut the line, then more carefully removed the slimy worm from the hook. Then surprise, he started tying a new hook on for me. This while he explained the importance of knowing where the line was behind you when casting.
I think we stayed out there at least another two or three hours before heading back to the car. My grandmother got the honor of removing the hook, and cleaning it up with some iodine. And amazing as it may seem we never spoke of that day ever again. And I learned that it is not whats in front of you that matters, but rather whats behind you. That old mans spirit still follows me today. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
