05-06-2004, 05:03 PM
When I was a kid, of 7 or 8 years old, my grandpa joe rest his soul, took me out fishing in the uinta mountains of Utah just east of salt lake city. We found a pond his brothers told him to take me, they were all DWR officials..they used to raz me about limits and stuff cause my granpa Joe only took me fishing no one else. and I know now why they razzed me so...you will too when I finish, so we get to the lake and we get out of his old yellow ford, get the rods out of the back, and his tackle box and creel. and worms. I got the basket with our lunch in it...we walked to a good point with a few pines and some open shore with deep water.
He helped me tie my line together, with huge hands that moved as deftly as the feet of a mountain goat on a cliff in the rain, and get a clear slide bobber on with a splitshot on below....little one...he hated worms so I had to bait my own.....I casted out and caught a fish within a few minutes....and another and another, as I recall I slayed em that day...my grampa was just sittin back hat tipped down low leanin against a fallen tree rod propped up with a red and white bobber popping lightly on the surface all day....a few feet from shore no doubt. when I mentioned it was too close several times he stated it was all right, he would get what he wanted out of the position.
As we reeled up to go home with a stringer of trout and all, I told him I was sorry he had not caught anything, and with the
only he could give me he laughed and reeled in to reveal to me he had no hook only a splitshot on the end of the line and a bobber a few feet above. When I told him he would never catch any fish like that, he asked me "Who said I wanted to catch fish?" He then told me how he loved the outdoors and fishing, but hated anything with fins, didnt wanna touch em, didnt wanna clean em, and sure as hell did not want to eat them. He said he came out to get some peace, and what he was fishing for was some good times with his fishin buddy. I knew that was me. I didnt tell anyone his secret, I told em all WE caught our limit and then some. My grandpas brothers all gave me a fake ticket for being too good a fisherman. They all Knew why he didnt join the fish and game, and now I did too...I miss that old man, I think of him when I look up on my shelf, and see his creel, his felt hat with flys, and rod displayed correctly......without a hook.
That is my story, and I live by it.
Laters,
[signature]
He helped me tie my line together, with huge hands that moved as deftly as the feet of a mountain goat on a cliff in the rain, and get a clear slide bobber on with a splitshot on below....little one...he hated worms so I had to bait my own.....I casted out and caught a fish within a few minutes....and another and another, as I recall I slayed em that day...my grampa was just sittin back hat tipped down low leanin against a fallen tree rod propped up with a red and white bobber popping lightly on the surface all day....a few feet from shore no doubt. when I mentioned it was too close several times he stated it was all right, he would get what he wanted out of the position.
As we reeled up to go home with a stringer of trout and all, I told him I was sorry he had not caught anything, and with the
only he could give me he laughed and reeled in to reveal to me he had no hook only a splitshot on the end of the line and a bobber a few feet above. When I told him he would never catch any fish like that, he asked me "Who said I wanted to catch fish?" He then told me how he loved the outdoors and fishing, but hated anything with fins, didnt wanna touch em, didnt wanna clean em, and sure as hell did not want to eat them. He said he came out to get some peace, and what he was fishing for was some good times with his fishin buddy. I knew that was me. I didnt tell anyone his secret, I told em all WE caught our limit and then some. My grandpas brothers all gave me a fake ticket for being too good a fisherman. They all Knew why he didnt join the fish and game, and now I did too...I miss that old man, I think of him when I look up on my shelf, and see his creel, his felt hat with flys, and rod displayed correctly......without a hook. That is my story, and I live by it.
Laters,
[signature]
] laters, 