Two types of fishing ~ July 31, 2003

David Heiller

Collin pondered the rock bass the way a bonsai artist ponders a pine tree. He looked at it this way and turned it that way in careful consideration of his next move. It might take minutes. It might take hours.

Levi and Collin, fishing at the cabin

“Just take the fish off!” his cousin, Levi, finally exclaimed. He was an expert at that of course, because he had taken a crappie off his fishing hook just the day before. It had taken him 20 minutes, and the fish looked like a used tube of toothpaste when he released it. But he had indeed removed the hook, and now that feat was serving him well.

“I will!” Collin shot back. The two boys are like brothers, and that means the gloves come off every so often.

“You’re two years older than me and I can do it,” Levi jabbed.

“Not two years, only a year and a half,” Collin replied. “And you fish a lot more than me. You go 10 times a year, and I only go five.”

“But you’re two years older than me.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Uh-huh.”

The brilliant conversation continued for most of the next five minutes. Collin finally slid his hand over the fish like he was disconnecting a time bomb. He took out the hook, and dropped the fish over the side of the boat. I was relieved to see it swim away.

It was a good reminder to me that life isn’t always easy for kids, at least if they’re a bit squeamish about fish hook removal.

I could have taken that hook out for Collin. He asked me to a couple times. But it was a fence he needed to cross, and cross it he did, with some “help” from his cousin. The next time it will be easier, then easier, until the day comes when he might actually smile and recall the good old days.

Claire, one of the Cast-a-way kids,  
enjoying the water at the cabin

The other kind of fishing I make reference to in the headline came from two younger kids that I took fishing at our annual Trip to the Cabin last week.

They were the Cast-Away Kids, because their main goal was to cast away. It did not matter one bit if they caught any fish. In fact, they seemed a little upset when a sunfish had the audacity to latch onto their bait. Their main goal was to bring that rod behind their head, whip it forward, release the bale with their thumb, and watch the bait fly forward. Cast away!

Then it was a quick reel in, and a repeat performance.

I made sure that they had single hooks on their line, and that most of the hook was covered with a plastic worm. You don’t want to put a double jointed Rapala with three sets of treble hooks in the hands of someone three feet tall.

Still it was a defensive fishing trip for me. I kept my head tucked in close to my shoulders as Gabe, age five, slung his bait toward shore with the determination of a middle linebacker. His dad had rigged it with a lead-headed jig that left his arm like a shotgun slug.

Gabe was remarkably accurate. He would aim for a lily pad, ignoring my advice that fish are not six inches from the shore, and he would hit that lily pad.

Sometimes the line would tighten like a crossbow as he tugged to get it free, and I would holler “Heads-up!” and the shotgun would blast back our way. Luckily no one got shot.

Claire, age eight, had a more poetic approach, casting her worm in all directions, moving her lure like a ballerina around her battering-ram cousin. She asked once if she could have a heavier lure like Gabe’s, but I gave a firm no to that. She seemed to understand my answer, probably because she had ducked as often as me.

Claire had the habit of announcing that she had a fish every time she felt a tug. Then when she saw the inevitable hunk of weeds on her hook, she would say she didn’t.

Her mantra bored into my brain: “I’ve-got-one, no-I-don’t. I’ve-got-one, no-I-don’t. I’ve-got-one-no-I-don’t.”

I finally broke her of that habit, first through a polite request, and then through good old mockery. Her final fishing act on our last outing was to point out to me that she had caught a weed and didn’t say it was a fish.

She was proud of that, and so was I. It was progress, just like her big brother’s Rock Bass Victory. Fishing with kids is fun. Just be ready for some good arguments and fast-flying lures. Catching fish is a bonus.