Redneck Mystic
Active Member
The other day, I got the notion to take up fishing again, and I drove to a public lake where I had fished as a boy. I bought a bunch of fishing tackle at the tackle shop, and made an appointment to rent a bass boat for yesterday afternoon.
I drove back there yesterday around 2 p.m. in the worst heat of an August day, which I never did after I knew how to fish lakes.
I learned I no longer feel entirely safe stepping off a dock onto a bass boat, and I learned I have difficulty walking around the boat and sitting on the electric trolling motor seat without feeling I might tip over.
The nice young man who set the boat up for me, showed me how to turn on the gas outboard motor and mount the electric trolling motor.
I left the dock and ran the boat to the only place on the lake where there was shade by the bank. Seeing the boat had no anchor, I tied the thin line attached to the front of the boat to a dead tree limb sticking up out of the water. I was closer to the bank and maybe lurking water moccasins than I liked.
I spent a lot of time rigging up the bait-casting rod and reel and the spinning rod and reel, because I could barely see the thin monofilament line and my fingers shake now and tying fishing knots I once could tie blindfolded was now an olympic trial. I made some casts and retrievals with the spinning outfit, and that went okay. I made some overhand casts with the bait-casting outfit, and I got backlashes that took me a while to unravel.
I called the bait and tackle shop on my iPhone, and they said they sold anchors and rope. I ran the boat back to the dock. The nice young man who had helped me lumber into the boat loaned me a concrete block with a yellow nylon rope attached for an anchor.
I ran the boat back to the shaded bank and did some more casting and retrieving, with the same results. I saw my iPhone battery was redlined, and at 81+ I didn’t want to be on that lake without a cell phone. I nearly wrenched my back out of joint pulling up the concrete block, and I started the engine and headed back to the dock to charge my cell phone on the charger in my van and to buy a smaller anchor and rope at the bait and tackle shop.
I had plenty or water in a cooler, but I was suffering and I bought a cherry Gatorade at the bait and tack shop, where the nice young woman behind the counter figured out how to pull the tapered monofilament leader out of the fly reel.
Now had all three outfits ready to go, but was plumb tuckered out and told her I would come back another day, later in the day.
I walked out on the dock with the bait-casting rig and tried casting backhanded and sideways, and that worked just fine, so I would not try casting overhanded anymore.
I thought about the osprey and wild speckled belly goose I had flushed off the water with the boat, and the great blue heron I had seen perched in a dead tree limb sticking up out of shallow water.
I thought about the last time I was on this lake, a beautiful spring Sunday morning with a woman I loved dearly, who believed she would die and burn in hell forever if she did not attend church on Sunday. We rented a canoe, I once was a white water canoeist, and we paddled it around the lake. We saw a great blue heron. I told her we were in church, but she wasn’t convinced.
A thunder storm was brewing to the west of the lake yesterday, and I wanted to stay, because, as I told the nice young man who had come to help me load my car, bass start moving and feeding ahead of a thunderstorm when the barometer starts falling, and after the storm passes through, nothing you do will get bass to bite and it’s time to go home.
But I was plumb wore out.
As the nice young man helped me load my car, I said I was really glad real estate developers never got their hands on this absolutely beautiful lake, where people still eat the fish they catch there. Most public lakes around these parts are contaminated and people don’t eat the fish they catch in those lakes.
I tipped him $10 and drove away.
I called a woman friend, who likes to fish, about going fishing with me soon on that lake. She has her own fishing tackle, and I think she might know how to cast spells and maybe she will cast one on some fish.
During the drive home, feeling at peace that I had gotten to fish, even if I didn’t even get a bite- like a ton of bricks falling on me from out of the sky, something occurred to me that dragged me out of my reverie back into the world I went fishing to escape.
Postscript:
What came crashing down on me was Joe Biden needs to resign so that Kamala Harris can be sworn in as president, which will freak out Donald Trump, maybe he will explode, have a terminal medical event; and it will srengthen her position considerably against Turmp and his lawyers and mobs, if he loses in November. I told someone that “transmission” was a fish the size of the whale that swallowed Jonah.
I called a woman friend, who likes to fish, about going fishing with me soon on that lake. She has her own fishing tackle, and I think she might know how to cast spells and maybe she will cast one on some fish.
Last night, I dreamed of my mother, who knew I loved to fish and I would die if I did not get to fish. My father did not like to fish, so she found men to take me fishing, and she drove me to lakes to fish, including that lake. She left me there with a sack lunch, and when she came back in the evening, I had a catch or not, but I was happy because I had gotten to fish. She wanted me to be a priest, but she did not understand priests catch souls for the church, and a fisherman catches souls for God. Nor did she know the fish were God, the lake was their church, and when they had taught the boy to fish, they would send him forth to be a fisherman.
I drove back there yesterday around 2 p.m. in the worst heat of an August day, which I never did after I knew how to fish lakes.
I learned I no longer feel entirely safe stepping off a dock onto a bass boat, and I learned I have difficulty walking around the boat and sitting on the electric trolling motor seat without feeling I might tip over.
The nice young man who set the boat up for me, showed me how to turn on the gas outboard motor and mount the electric trolling motor.
I left the dock and ran the boat to the only place on the lake where there was shade by the bank. Seeing the boat had no anchor, I tied the thin line attached to the front of the boat to a dead tree limb sticking up out of the water. I was closer to the bank and maybe lurking water moccasins than I liked.
I spent a lot of time rigging up the bait-casting rod and reel and the spinning rod and reel, because I could barely see the thin monofilament line and my fingers shake now and tying fishing knots I once could tie blindfolded was now an olympic trial. I made some casts and retrievals with the spinning outfit, and that went okay. I made some overhand casts with the bait-casting outfit, and I got backlashes that took me a while to unravel.
I called the bait and tackle shop on my iPhone, and they said they sold anchors and rope. I ran the boat back to the dock. The nice young man who had helped me lumber into the boat loaned me a concrete block with a yellow nylon rope attached for an anchor.
I ran the boat back to the shaded bank and did some more casting and retrieving, with the same results. I saw my iPhone battery was redlined, and at 81+ I didn’t want to be on that lake without a cell phone. I nearly wrenched my back out of joint pulling up the concrete block, and I started the engine and headed back to the dock to charge my cell phone on the charger in my van and to buy a smaller anchor and rope at the bait and tackle shop.
I had plenty or water in a cooler, but I was suffering and I bought a cherry Gatorade at the bait and tack shop, where the nice young woman behind the counter figured out how to pull the tapered monofilament leader out of the fly reel.
Now had all three outfits ready to go, but was plumb tuckered out and told her I would come back another day, later in the day.
I walked out on the dock with the bait-casting rig and tried casting backhanded and sideways, and that worked just fine, so I would not try casting overhanded anymore.
I thought about the osprey and wild speckled belly goose I had flushed off the water with the boat, and the great blue heron I had seen perched in a dead tree limb sticking up out of shallow water.
I thought about the last time I was on this lake, a beautiful spring Sunday morning with a woman I loved dearly, who believed she would die and burn in hell forever if she did not attend church on Sunday. We rented a canoe, I once was a white water canoeist, and we paddled it around the lake. We saw a great blue heron. I told her we were in church, but she wasn’t convinced.
A thunder storm was brewing to the west of the lake yesterday, and I wanted to stay, because, as I told the nice young man who had come to help me load my car, bass start moving and feeding ahead of a thunderstorm when the barometer starts falling, and after the storm passes through, nothing you do will get bass to bite and it’s time to go home.
But I was plumb wore out.
As the nice young man helped me load my car, I said I was really glad real estate developers never got their hands on this absolutely beautiful lake, where people still eat the fish they catch there. Most public lakes around these parts are contaminated and people don’t eat the fish they catch in those lakes.
I tipped him $10 and drove away.
I called a woman friend, who likes to fish, about going fishing with me soon on that lake. She has her own fishing tackle, and I think she might know how to cast spells and maybe she will cast one on some fish.
During the drive home, feeling at peace that I had gotten to fish, even if I didn’t even get a bite- like a ton of bricks falling on me from out of the sky, something occurred to me that dragged me out of my reverie back into the world I went fishing to escape.
Postscript:
What came crashing down on me was Joe Biden needs to resign so that Kamala Harris can be sworn in as president, which will freak out Donald Trump, maybe he will explode, have a terminal medical event; and it will srengthen her position considerably against Turmp and his lawyers and mobs, if he loses in November. I told someone that “transmission” was a fish the size of the whale that swallowed Jonah.
I called a woman friend, who likes to fish, about going fishing with me soon on that lake. She has her own fishing tackle, and I think she might know how to cast spells and maybe she will cast one on some fish.
Last night, I dreamed of my mother, who knew I loved to fish and I would die if I did not get to fish. My father did not like to fish, so she found men to take me fishing, and she drove me to lakes to fish, including that lake. She left me there with a sack lunch, and when she came back in the evening, I had a catch or not, but I was happy because I had gotten to fish. She wanted me to be a priest, but she did not understand priests catch souls for the church, and a fisherman catches souls for God. Nor did she know the fish were God, the lake was their church, and when they had taught the boy to fish, they would send him forth to be a fisherman.
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