Downwind“Fish Stories”
My “friends” frequently like to share a fish story about me.
They say, “Bob is a great fisherman… He caught a fish this long,” while holding out one hand extended to show the length of the fish. My friends think they are pretty funny with their “one arm jokes”.
My personal fish stories began on the farm. My best memories growing up on the farm in western Illinois were the extracurricular activities available as a kid. Hanging out at the pond and fishing was one of those activities I most enjoyed.
Almost every farm (worth anything in my opinion) had a farm pond. In the area where I grew up, most of those farm ponds were created for the purpose of watering cattle or sheep. Other ponds were formed after farm ground was strip-mined for coal and water filled the giant holes that remained. Those farm ponds provided great year-round entertainment for the farm kids: Rock skipping. Ice hockey. Teasing snakes. Canoeing. And, of course, Fishing.
My first fishing experience was when I was seven years old. My grandparents gave me a bamboo pole for my birthday. My grandpa, the Farmer I, announced he was going to take me fishing. I’m not sure if he even liked fishing but looking back, I’m pretty sure it’s what you do with your grandson. A time-honored tradition.
He led the way to the backside of one of his farms where an old strip-mine pond lived, serene and inviting. That day, Grandpa taught me a simple fishing formula: kid’s pole + hook + bobber + worms = bluegill.
I caught a few bluegill that day. Most importantly, Grandpa unleashed in me a fishing drive and craving that exists to today.
My dad, the Farmer II, would occasionally take me fishing when he had time (and wasn’t too exhausted). However, usually it was my mother, a patient and dear soul, that delivered and fueled my fishing love as a kid.
From 5th through 8th grade, we lived on a tenant farm that had a series of strip-mine ponds in the back of the property. Throughout the summer, Mom would accompany me and my siblings to the pond to fish. Bluegill, sunfish, smallmouth bass, bullhead, and catfish were the targets. Cottonmouth snakes and chiggers were not. Mom, with infinite patience, would re-bait hooks, untangle lines, change lures, grab fish, and lovingly remove hooks from angry brothers.
Our landlord had another strip mine pond a few miles away which was stocked with albino catfish. He would feed those fish high-protein pig starter pellets. The water would boil with massive catfish gorging themselves. What a spectacle to watch! I wanted so badly to sneak on my bike with my pole and reel in a few huge catfish. The lecture from my parents (about tanning my hide) stopped me.
As my brothers and I grew older, now without our mother in tow, we would head to the Spoon River or the pond on my uncle’s place or other public (or sometimes private) pond access for new and different fishing opportunities and experiences. My college graduation gift to myself was fishing in the Minnesota/Canada Boundary Waters for a week with three friends. Over the years, I have purchased fishing licenses in the states of Illinois, Wyoming, Montana, Wisconsin, Minnesota, New York, Maine, Tennessee, Florida, Alabama, Georgia, Colorado, and Missouri fishing in lakes, streams, rivers, backwaters, and saltwater. There are probably other states I should have purchased a fishing license but failed (shhhh, don’t tell the ranger). And it all started with a farm pond.
Life has a way of coming full circle. I recently received a Father’s Day gift from my daughter. Two kid- sized fishing poles. The hint: take your grandsons fishing if you love it so much!
Knowing that “catching” is better than “fishing”, I felt that the proper success opportunity was crucial. When board member Roger Freeman asked me recently, “When are you bringing the crew out to fish at my farm pond?” I felt that the stars had aligned.
We had a wonderful afternoon at that farm pond where I taught my grandsons the simple fish formula: kid’s pole + hook + bobber + worms (or hotdogs) = bluegill (or a bass).
Did I mention that “catching” is awesome!
As a finale to a great fish story day, Mr. Freeman fed his farm pond catfish scoops of highprotein fish pellets (looked like pig starter). The grandsons were fascinated as the water boiled with massive catfish gorging themselves. I hope those boys don’t sneak on their bikes with their poles to reel in a huge catfish. They might need a lecture.
You have to love a farm pond!