Most avid anglers can recall a moment in their life when the interest in fishing escalated to more than just a way to pass time. This moment usually takes place over a full fishing season and not just a few seconds of time one day on the water. This moment for me happened at the age of six years.
While growing up in Southeast Missouri I was fortunate to have lived within walking distance of a stream that held eager panfish. Also, a resourceful mother who encouraged my love of the outdoors. Digging worms for bait was my favorite fishing technique and our yard was full of back-filled holes to prove it. Many times during the dry summer the ground had the texture of sandstone. This made digging difficult for a skinny kid that didn’t weigh much more than the shovel. When faced with this situation mom would give me a couple slices of bread or bacon to supplement my lack of live bait.
Fishing equipment was simple and designed by my mother who was a great outfitter when resources ran low. I would choose a stick that met my standards for a fishing rod and she somehow always came up with a good length of line and some sort of hook. At times mom would fashion a safety pin as a hook and a small length of stick tied onto the line made a great bobber. She would wish me luck and send me on my way. This was back during a time when parents didn’t have to worry about someone running off with their kids and it was perfectly acceptable for a neighbor lady to discipline a kid that she felt needed it.
During these adventures I would be gone for hours catching fish and playing in the creek. This creek was not anything big or dangerous. There was not to many places that an adult could not step across it with much trouble. However, to a seven year old kid it might as well been one of the Great Lakes. It did have a couple of waterfalls, areas of flat limestone where the water fell almost 18 inches into the next pool. This was a waterfall to a kid and the lower pool was a great place to catch huge four-inch panfish.
Fishing until dark, or until the bait ran out, was a standard practice. Many times as dark approached I would wedge my “fishing rod” in a secure place in hopes of having caught a fish upon my return the next day. Looking back I now realize this is why a store bought fishing rig was out of the question for me. If my fishing rod survived the night without being pulled into the water I often found a fish attached to the end of the line. However, many times it was gone the next morning and I often wondered about the record sized fish that was required to dislodge my gear.
The next year my family moved to an urban area and left the creek behind but my love of fishing just grew more intense. I was blessed with neighborhood ponds for many years after the move and a bicycle to haul all of my gear. Bicycle handlebars make great rod holders but one must be careful when passing nearby trees and mailboxes because the rod was much wider than the bicycle. Equipment damage and bodily harm could always be found just one mailbox away.
My mother always provided the resources for the essentials to chase fish and encouraged me to spend time outdoors. There is not doubt in my mind her intentions were genuine in encouraging outdoor activities but I am sure she enjoyed some peace and quite time at home while I was fishing.
A lot has changed in the almost forty years that have passed since my “defining moment”. My equipment choices have become more high-tech but the basics remain the same. Spending time fishing is more about the experience than anything else. If I had to give up all of the new equipment and use that old stick with a safety pin hook I would still go fishing at every opportunity.
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