Ten things I know about Fishing part 2



pocket fisherman

1. Do not confuse "going fishing" with "catching fish". If catching fish is the goal, then lots of fish equals good fishing. If the fun is in the "going" then there are tons of options. I love fishing as in "going fishing". I really do not care about catching anything. Some people are what my dad called "ambulance chasers". They are a restless lot and they cast a few times and if nothing is caught or no bites, they pick up everything and move to a new spot. To me, that is not fishing, that is being a pain in the butt. Why would anyone want to get all aggravated every ten minutes or so by moving to a new spot. I guess if you want to catch some fish, that may be required but that is not fishing. That is "chasing" fish. I do not chase dogs so I am sure as hell not going to chase a fish unless he has my car keys or something. I chased a baby bull one time and soon it tired of being chased and started chasing me. There is a lesson in there somewhere. Catching fish is exciting. The strong pull on the line, the excitement of catching the "big one". Fish, even the ugly ones are beautiful and amazing. I usually end up throwing every one of them back. I am losing the heart to kill and clean them. I do not consider myself any kind of expert fisherman if I catch a bunch of fish. I just figure the fish are having a bad day and I am just there to make it worse.  I have gone fishing and I have caught fish.  I have gone fishing and not caught fish.  I once caught a fish and was not fishing.  Usually I do not go fishing and do not catch fish but I know the difference. 

Ten things I know about fishing Part 1

This is part of a series of topics I am writing for my grandson's birthday present.  Ryon's boy Micah is a fishing nut.  He has skills.

anyway, this is just the first section.  Every few days I will publish the next section and I will send it to him as a book when I finish it.  (soon)

Ten Things I Know About Fishing

Micah

Fishing is an adventure for fathers and sons all over the world. Teachers, adventurer and old men have a favorite story, technique and fishing spot. Some people are crazy about fishing. Some are crazy with fishing. Many have expensive boats and equipment. They purchase the latest reels and lures. They enter fishing contests just to show off a nice boat. I know a guy that was in a bass fishing contest and he caught fifty eight pounds of carp and catfish but not one bass. He spent $100 on the entry fee, $200 on gas, beer and fishing stuff, had to drag the boat thirty miles, launch the boat at 3:30 AM. He arrived back home at 9:27 PM and had to clean the fish, clean the boat and take a shower. He was in bed by midnight and his fish cost him, after cleaning, eight dollars a pound. You can buy fish at the grocery store for a lot less than that and be home in time to cook it dinner. I do not think he ever ate those fish. His wife always brings up this fishing story whenever company comes around. She laughs loudly when she reminds him that he was disqualified from the contest for having too many gadgets.

Picket Line

I had to laugh yesterday on the way home from work. I guess the Firefighters are on strike for something or other and as I was driving through the picket line scattering sign holders like bees and I was not reading the signs or looking at anyone so as not to run over any of them. (It would have given them something to do if I just clipped one) I am not sure why they are picketing but one of the signs seem to say “NASA froze my…. “ I could not read the rest of the sign. My old eyes and slightly dyslexic vision made the word “Penis” out of some letters. I thought, "Well, I would do more than picket if someone froze my penis, and especially if it was a government agency." I do not need or use my penis much anymore but I am kind of familiar with it and the thing IS used for balance also. ( Kinda like a cheetah's tail.) “ NASA froze my PENSION”. Boy, that was a close one. 

Shoe Squeaking

This may be the final straw.  The shoe on my right foot, the one I kick my son with squeaks with every step I take.  I noticed a vibration about two weeks ago just days prior to my return to playing tennis.  I mention tennis because I would be suspecting tennis and stiffness to be causing the squeak if it would have started the day after my first 6:30am tennis travesty.  Now this nudge is a full blown squeak.  Step, squeak, step, squeak.  Sweet Savior on High what is that sound?


Since the noise started, I have tried Shoe Goo, a great product, super glue, not so great a product, Gorilla glue, and I even tried lubricating the bottom of my shoe with joy jelly.   The results are as expected.  I have pulled up carpet tiles because the super glue stuck my shoe to them, I have a lump of shoe goo on the instep of my still squeaking tenny causing me to drag my foot like a cripple and I slipped and fell up the stairs emanating a nice strawberry scent while busting my shin bone.  The Gorilla glue just made my finger tips black (which lasts for 3 days).   I reached for the big knife and sliced off a loose piece of shoe tread that I suspected was the problem.  The noise is different but remains just the same.


If I drag my foot like I had a stroke, the noise stops.  I tried that for about fifty steps and my hip, knee, calf and cow hurt so bad I decided I would rather have the squeak.  By the time I got back to my office, I hated the squeak again because now it was doing it on carpeted floor as well.  Tears cannot express the pain.  When Edgar Allan Poe wrote the The Tell-Tale Heart, he could not have thought a worse haunt.  I anticipate the sound before my foot even hits the floor and I cringe at each bark.  I am losing my mind over a squeaky shoe.  I do not even want to walk anymore. I am in a spiral of squeaky death.


I am going to have to get a new pair of shoes.  I love the way these shoes broke in.  All of my extraneous foot pain went away when I slipped into these shoes. There are a type of children's shoes that are made to squeak.  I guess these lazy parents can keep track of the little terrorists by listening instead of seeing them in the street or twisting with the pit bull by the neighbor's pool.  My shoes are less than two years old.  For me, these are still infant shoes.  I wear shoes for ten years or more.  I restitch them, bleach them, glue them and grind them.  The last pair of shoes I had were the Magic Johnson LA Gear shoes.  I did not care for them.  I gained a bunch of weigh while wearing those shoes.  Come to think of it so did he after starting that company.  I am sure the two are not related.  The current pair is, and I hate to say Nike.  At least I think so.  They do not say Nike but there is one of those obnoxious check marks on them.  The only thing more annoying than the check mark is the branding "Nike".  At least Puma has a cool name and insignia.


I cannot express the aggravation this is causing.  The stress is giving me gas.  I know a headache will come to roost because my club foot is hurting.  This is worse than a hang nail.  Far worse than sticker burs in the yard or fire ants in my pants.  I would almost rather wear toe shoes than squeak my way around the water cooler.  As gas bubbles gurgle through my lower bowels, I can only think of leaving work, buying shoes and wondering when this anguish will end.  I tightened all the shoe laces hoping to change the shape of the shoe.  The sound is back in full squeak.  I must go.

Tree Jumping

As I have spoken before, Bobby was not just a friend.  He was a good friend with a good heart and a complete lack of self control.  There was no finer gift than his friendship to me.  A close second attribute was his desire, no compulsion to try anything that looked or sounded fun.  I supplied the creativity and Bobby supplied the reckless abandon.  I would say, Hey Bobby, you know what is really cool and does not require any money?  Riding your bike off of the dock at Collier's house.  If you hit it just right, you can get great air and distance.  I'll bet with the way you pedal like a madman you could do a flip or something.  Doug went about fifteen feet on a tricycle.

Bobby:  Well, I can out pedal Doug.  Remember that day at the beach with the dead shark.  I was on it that day.

Creativity:  You were all over it, Bobby, you can't run for shit but you can pedal that banana bike.  You have a whole nother gear. 

The hook was set, Bobby would nearly bleed to death with that broken tricycle stuck in his leg.

Then there was tree jumping, I invented it.  It is a modification of the Tarzan vine swinging thing.  Basically you jump from one tree to another by climbing to the very top of a suitable Australian Pine tree and start it swaying.  This tree is very flexible.  Casuarina equisetifolia is native to Australia and is always green but it is everywhere in Florida.  This tree can grow to fifty feet or more and is very flexible and easy to climb.  

The tree in the background of this picture is perfect for tree jumping.  Near the top you can start the thing swaying back and forth and bend it over to get near a neighboring tree.  At the appropriate time, one "simply jumps" to the other tree.  Bobby, having the ability to learn from his mistakes and not being made sport of, said,  "I am not sure how to do this, you show me".  Bobby was at that adolescent age where his eyes, arms, feet and brain were growing way to fast and not at all talking to each other.  He was bigger than me even though I was older.  At any given time, every part of his body was doing something different and going in a different direction.  Today they would classify him as ADD or have him on drugs.  In those days we called it "entertainment".  I climbed the tree and started it swaying.  Since I was the greatest tree climber in these parts, I had a reputation to uphold so I really got the tree swaying.  When the tree bends  back up and slings me to the other side, I remember asking my grip to not fail me.  It took everything I had to hang on and swing my body out because in the next moment I was going to "jump" to the nearby tree.

Yes, I felt bad about Bobby landing on a shrubbery and getting the breath knocked out of him.  I told him that since this was not the first time he could not breath and he was going to be "OK", I really did not have to stop laughing.  I called him Bobby the flying squirrel and he started laughing but without any breath he just turned red and then blue.  The only other time I had seen him that blue was when he held is breath for four minutes at the Holiday Inn pool.  On the walk back home he got over being mad at me for laughing and he said, maybe we can do that again sometime!