Fishing Foibles

After a fishing trip with Grandma and Grandpa Fann

(Apologies to my friend and fellow columnist, a fishing fanatic. Check out A Good Word this week.) Here’s the trouble with fishin’ as I see it.

*The simple way never worked for me - bamboo pole, line and bait - because I couldn’t get the hang of throwing the line where the fish were. It always became tangled in a branch above or under water. I wasn’t much luckier with a rod and reel.

*The temperature is never good. I’m either too hot and sweaty or fighting with sleeves that won’t stay up. But if they do stay up, I’m fighting mosquitos.

*The bank is seldom mowed. Who knows what lurks in that tall stuff? Ticks and chiggers for sure, along with slivering critters. I’ve tried fishing from a dock. Too much around me moves to allow me to focus on the task. I’ve tried from a boat. Too noisy or too topsy-turvy.

*The bait debate confounds me. Why can’t worms - the fake kind - work for everything? Handling the live variety or chicken livers just reminds me what a fish might feel like if I happen to land one. Size or kind, no matter. If I have to take it off the hook, I don’t want to catch it.

*I wouldn’t clean and cook one even if it were to land in my lap. I prefer mine fried and ready to eat from LHG or from a tuna can at home.

So you see why I call myself a Ripley County “transplant” though I’ve learned my way around these parts and maybe my StL dialect is not as noticeable now. I love Mark Twain National Forest, and I’ve canoed Current River from Baptist Camp.

But I don’t fish…not my thing. I have stories.

*All I hooked was my brother’s upper lip when Dad took us kids to a stocked concrete pond in St. Louis.

*At church and school camps, I signed up for canoeing outings or participated in craft time.

*We had family fish frys at grandparents’ homes during summer visits. We cousins enjoyed the food and fun and homemade ice cream afterward.

*One college roommate turned in a frozen fish from the supermarket for one of her Fishing (Life Recreation) tests. Dare I say I knew more about the sport than she did and I took archery.

*Another college roommate, a farm girl from birth, moved to Ripley County and married one of my fellow DHS classmates. She tried converting me, but she eventually tired of baiting the hook and removing the few fish I caught and gave up that mission.

My sis caught a huge trophy fish, larger than any caught by her hubby, who is quite knowledgeable and skilled when it comes to serious fishing. He’s ALWAYS serious about his fishing. My brother, however much he knows about the particulars, is NOT serious about it and even jumped in to cool off when showing our brother-in-law the ropes on the Current. Swift end to that fishing trip, well, to all fishing trips by those two.

You might be surprised to know that I DID take my son fishing when he was a kid. I didn’t have to do a thing, thanks to Mildred and Elvie Fann, who were more like grandparents than babysitters. They taught him all about farm living and took him fishing on Cane Creek and Little Black. So when he and I went to a lake with mowed banks for fishing afternoons, he didn’t need Mom’s help with anything. All I had to do was pack lunch and bring the bug spray.