Last week, I was talking to my brother Clint, we must have been talking about fishing because he told me a fishing story about dad that I never knew.
Let me preface the story by saying that dad was an old school fisherman extraordinaire. My earliest memories was of him driving away with half a dozen cane poles sticking out the back window of the car, somewhere in the back seat was a can of earthworms he had dug up the night before. His tacklebox was a small metal box filled with bobbers (plastic and cork) some hooks and lead weights although old spark plugs or rusty nuts worked in a pinch. He fished rivers, creeks and farm ponds, a rock, tree stump or maybe a bucket served as a chair. Usually, bream and catfish were the catch of the day.
Pat and I got to go along with him about the time I started school. Old Hickory Lake was still in the creation stage so dad would seek out a favorite spot along Spencer Creek back when he could drive along a dirt path beside the creek until he found a suitable spot to stop, the banks of Stones River had many good spots when we moved closer to town. Pat and I were still a bit young and had short attention spans, dad spent a lot of time telling us to stop throwing rocks in the water or sit down and be quiet as we were scaring the fish away but somehow we learned to fish.
It was quite a few years before dad acquired a cheap casting reel that would get his bait further out. He spent a fair amount of time unraveling the back lash in the line until he got a nice spincast reel that eliminated the back lash but the cane poles were ever-present for years to come.
Bank fishing was the order of the day until about 1960, that's when he had a carpenter friend build him a John boat. All of a sudden there was no place he couldn't get to on the lake. Now dad started planning his vacation around crappie season, imagine fishing every day for two weeks straight. The boat allowed him to do another type of fishing - trot-lining.
Trot-lining is when you tie a long line (75- 100 feet) to a point on the shore and run it out into the lake or river, one end would be anchored down so the line would be submerged several feet. Hooks were tied to lengths of line maybe 10 inches long and attached to the trot-line about every 18 inches and baited with small bream or old meat. The aim was to attract and catch catfish and dad was very good at it. The line had to be checked and baited every day, the fish were cleaned and put in a freezer waiting for a fish fry cookout later in the summer.
Now that you understand that dad was a fisherman, I'll tell you the story Clint told me.
I'm still unclear of the year but at some point in time dad had put out a trot-line, I guess he was not on vacation as he couldn't get to check it but every few days, Clint would check it for him when he could. Clint discovered that when he checked and baited the line and came back later to check it the hooks were all empty of bait and fish which was unusual. He told dad what he found and dad determined he had a trot-line thief running his line so he set out to catch the thief.
Dad went out and baited the line one day and went home but he got up before sunrise the next morning and laid in wait in view of the line. It didn't take long after sun rise before a boat approached his line and a stranger started removing fish.
At this point dad approached the stranger and confronted him. He told the man that the line belonged to him and he was lucky dad didn't have a gun. The stranger looked at dad and said I guess you have caught me. The stranger told dad that he had watched him and knew what days dad would check the line and on the days he didn't the stranger would remove and rebait the line and check it the next day before dad or Clint got there.
Normally the stranger would say he was sorry, promise not to do it again and leave but this time things took a different turn of events. The stranger told dad he would like to make a deal with him, he would see to it the line was baited every day and whenever dad ran the line all he had to do was remove the fish and the stranger would do the rebaiting that way they would both benefit. In addition, if dad needed more fish all he had to do was look in the freezer on the stranger's dock and take what he wanted.
Strangely enough the two of them became fishing buddies and good friends till the day dad died, the man showed up for his funeral, had I known I would have shook his hand.
That was more than 40 years ago, I have a lot of memories about fishing with dad and although I didn't know about this one until a few weeks ago it will now be among the best of them. Wherever dad is, I hope the fish are biting.
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