Fishing with children and old men

Fishing with children and old men

“Old Dogs, Children and Watermelon Wine.” That was what an “old, gray man” in a bar told a storyteller were the “only things in this world that’s worth a solitary dime.” The song containing those words was written and recorded by a country music icon, Tom T. Hall.

Well, I don’t know anything about watermelon wine, and though some children are spoiled brats, some dogs won’t hunt, and some old men are ornery as a sidewinder rattlesnake, I still like most all of those children and old men with whom I’ve spent time.

When it comes to fishing, I would have to go back about a thousand years when I was five or six years old to the days when my dad took me on my first fishing expeditions.

There is something about fishing with young kids that makes an outing special, even if on most outings you must spend a good deal of time untangling lines, putting on fresh worms, getting hooks or lures out of shoreline brush and listening to unceasing chatter about no fish biting, mosquitoes that are biting, fingers freezing and so on and so on.

I put my dad through some of those things, though any significant amount of complaining around him would have meant not getting another invitation to fish anytime in the near future.

As a new, young father in my 20s, I found myself on the other end of the equation. Two kids, three years apart in age, room for both on the rear seat of my 10-foot Jon boat and a pair of oars in my hand were all it took to find a new way to enjoy fishing to its fullest.

Early on each spring, trout would be our top priority come opening morning. Come snow, hail, rain or brilliant sunshine, we were out early on one of the several area lakes around Sayner that were stocked with trout.

Both kids had a spincast rod and reel combo in their hands. Not wanting to untangle unlimited numbers of tangled lines, I found the best way to keep both occupied with their lines safely apart was for each to cast out, one on each side of the boat, while I rowed them around trailing our favorite trout lure, a small, narrow silver spoon with a little red flipper tail.

There was room for both of them to sit facing backwards on the rear seat, and usually it didn’t take long for trout to basically hook themselves while grabbing a spoon. Sometimes both would have trout on at the same time.

Poor Pops, meanwhile, never got to touch a rod of his own, brought along, I guess, simply to man the oars, unhook trout destined for the creel and to act as an arbiter over who caught the most and biggest trout.

Since then, I have fished with many young children. One of them, at the age of six, managed to put the treble hook of a spoon meant for catching northern pike in the back of my shirt one time and another time in the back of his dad’s shirt. No blood was shed, though many bodily harm comments were spoken directly to the perpetrator.

Another time I was fishing with a young lady who was all of eight years old when I hooked a musky of about 32 inches. She decided it would be her job to net it. After about six or eight passes, she finally got the fish in the net, helped to untangle the hooks from the musky and the net, and got to help put the musky back in the water when it was released.

Memories are made of such things, proof that children with a fishing rod or net in hand are one of the three things worth a solitary dime.

In past years I have had the pleasure of keeping company with old men, even older than my nearly 77 years.

One of them, a man named Ed who spent each summer at a home on Plum Lake, fished with me for about 10 years, half a dozen or more times each year.

He loved fishing bass more than anything, and over the years we landed a great many bass, both smallmouth and largemouth in the 18- to 22-inch range.

Our time together made for some of the best hours I’ve spent in my lifetime, and when I fished with him for the last time when he was 87 or 88, we were still catching big bass. Sadly, last winter, Ed passed away.

It has been my good fortune that another Ed has become part of my fishing life. Ninety-four years old now,  Ed and his daughter, Peggy, fished with me last week. We have fished together for the past few years, during which outings a lot of pike, bass and a few assorted other fish have been brought to the boat.

Ed’s family began vacationing in Sayner during the very early 1900s, and for years he has fished our waters. His biggest catch was an honestly weighed 46-pound, eight-ounce musky taken many, many moons ago on a Northwoods lake.

Nowadays, Ed and Peggy love catching bass and pike, and that’s what we did last week. Fishing with this Ed has been just another example of how lucky I have been to share time on the water with old men.

He’s an example that proves children and old men are two of the best things in the world, each proving many times that they are worth more than a solitary dime.