My So-Called “Fishing” Career

If spending money instead of earning it can be a legitimate career choice, then I’ve had a most excellent fishing career.

It all began when I was 5. Then there were no expenses – for me. My dad hacked down a small weedy twig, stripped off all the leaves, tied black fishing line to the end, attached a hook, a bobber, and a lead sinker, and I was set. I foraged for worms next to the brook where my older sister – not fishing – and my younger sister – who had the same type of rig as I did – fished.

By “fished” I mean we tossed our baited hooks out as far as possible – the fishing line was only as long as the twig – often still able to see no fish were interested because we could see the entire rig: hook, line, and sinker.

Boring.

My brother and uncle went off to fish in the wooded area of the brook. They returned later with scads of trout.

Having no funds, my fishing experiences remained restricted to my dreams, until I noticed a rusty, old reel discarded in the trash bin in our garage. I’d seen a Bozo the Clown cartoon where Bozo scored an old outboard motor from the trash, which he was able to fix up and get to work – with disastrous results. I thought the cartoon was unrealistic – the only trash bin WE had was outside of our kitchen door.

But there it was.

I resolved to build a fishing rod.

My DIY skills are, let’s say, slackish. I’d present all my triumphs but, well, I’d have to make some up first.

Still, I went in search of suitable rod material.

Randomly I checked next to an old, weathered barn we barely used and next to the outer wall was a bamboo rod. This had been tossed there by my brother after going bullpout (like a catfish) fishing with my uncle. The supple end had rotted off, but the remaining bamboo was light and, well, rigid. I managed to screw some eyelets for guides, and after oiling the reel got that to work, so I attached the reel to the bamboo with generous wraps of electrical tape.

I tied on a hook, found a sinker and bobber, and I was ready to test it out.

I went to our pond near Route 7. I had planned to dig up worms next to the pond, but the clay soil was like concrete. So I settled on using some red berries that grew wild on our farm.

Much to my astonishment, the rod cast.

But the bobber failed. It sunk immediately. I cranked it all back, and saw the berry was gone. Too fragile. I had no other option, so I skewered another one on.

Cast. Sink. No berry.

It was still better than my first fishing experience. At least there was SOME action.

I repeated all these steps many times, then thought that maybe I needed to set the hook when the bobber sank.

Bingo.

I caught my first fish. I ran up to the house in triumph, the fish in an empty can I’d filled with water to show off to my family.

No one believes a fisherman’s story.

After appreciating my incredible achievement, I ran back to dump the fish back into the pond for another day. I was practicing catch and release without even realizing it.

It was a day of miracles.

I spent many more days fishing, catching, and releasing. Then one day, tragedy.

Setting the hook hard on what I hoped would be a real whopper, I managed to fling my hook, line, and sinker up over my head and into the tree overhanging the pond. I couldn’t get it out. I left the rod hanging from the tree and ran home.

I explained the problem to my father and brother Jimmy. Jimmy said, “Why didn’t you just cut the line?”

1) I had no knife, 2) I had no more hook or sinker. I started to weep over the terrible loss.

“Don’t worry about it,” my father said. “Jimmy can get it out tomorrow when he spreads the manure down there.”

Horrified, I said, “It’s hanging right out in the open!”

“So?”

“What if someone steals it?”

My father laughed. “If anyone steals that rod you made with a reel your brother threw in the trash, I’ll buy you a new rod and reel.”

I thought about sneaking down to get the rod and hide it, but that was impractical and impossible.

So, Jimmy fetched the rod the next morning, and with it I caught many, many, many fish.

All free to me.