The Fishing Gene

I am convinced that the love of fishing is in your blood. It is a great pasttime, fairly inexpensive, and you can catch food. Dad took me fishing at lakes and ponds and creeks all over. And I spent a fair amount of time pretend fishing in the ditches after a big rain on stick poles with invisible line and hooks.

Many weekends were spent fishing with The Baker Boys. Looking back I am not sure they were fond of having a girl in their fishing party, but they seemed to tolerate me most of the time. Sometimes they took off without me though. I was every bit the Tom Boy on the creek bank, I could bait my own hook, cast my own line, and reel in a catch so I don’t know why they didn’t want me around!

My Grandpa went fishing every day he could. The fishing car was a blue and white 1959 Buick Roadmaster station wagon. It was a giant car filled with fishing poles and tackle boxes and bait and nets and minnow buckets. The smell of BJ stink bait was ever present. I don’t think Mom liked for me to even ride in the fishing car!

Dad and grandpa were world class fishermen in my book with superior knowledge of all things from baiting to landing to cleaning the catch. I learned to make Wheatie Balls just the right consistency and to use a bait caster without making a bird’s nest of the line on the reel. I was not big on cleaning the fish. Dad took care of that.

Most of the time they used live bait and fished all night. Catching the little fish for bait was more fun than fishing for the big ones sometimes. Early one morning when I was 8 they brought home the biggest fish in the world! 58 ½ pounds! It was bigger than me! Everyone in town came by to see it. Harold Ensley even called our house!

My son is a fisherman too. He would go with grandpa when he was a little guy. Now he is quite often out there with grandpa’s fishing stuff trying to catch another big one. One morning when he was about 4 we were on our way to the car. It had rained overnight and the nightcrawlers were laying out on the street. I told him that he and grandpa should pick them up and take them fishing. He didn’t say anything for a while as we got in the car and started down the street. Pretty soon he said that the nightcrawlers could not go fishing with him and grandpa. I asked him why. And he matter of factly replied “because they don’t have fishing poles.”