Gone Fishing
You remember my friend, John Steel, that lives out on county road 200? He called me the other day wanting to go fishing. He said we could go down on the Gabriel and seine some perch for bait. We could then stop by Parkers and pick up a pound of bacon, dozen eggs and a can of coffee and head for the river.
A lot of guys used to go fishing like that. Didn’t matter what day of the week or what month it was if the notion struck, they went fishing. Some times they dug a can of worms or made a batch of dough bait. But if they were serious they would seine bait. What they really wanted was a bunch of sun perch about finger long to hook onto their trot line. That was the bait of choice when fishing for catfish. Some believed the size of the perch dictated the size of the catch. John told me that was not so. He said a big catfish will bite a little sun perch but a little catfish can’t bite a big sun perch.
I didn’t sound to eager when John called so he began with a stronger sales pitch. ” We will take along a quilt or two to nap on between running the lines ,”he said.
Fishermen that took pride in their trade looked down on a string of little channel cats. They felt any one could catch those fish. Blue catfish stood a little higher in their estimation but the prize went to the man who caught yellow catfish. He was a man to be admired. Most of the yellow catfish men would share with you how to catch yellows, but they were a little shy about telling you where they fished to catch the big ones. In private they called their special fishing place their “honey holes”, “sweet spots” or sometimes “never fail”.
I still didn’t rise to the bait of going fishing just now. John tried again, playing what he hoped was his ace in the hole. “The moon is in the second quarter, and that is the best time to catch the big yellow cats.” he declared.
While John waited for my answer I got to thinking about the pleasure I would miss if I turned him down. One, this is the middle of March. One day will be the ideal spring day. Then in the middle of the night a flash of light and a rumble of thunder and you whole fishing trip is a soggy mess. And another thing I wasn’t to keen on doing in March was wading the Gabriel to seine sun perch for bait. The temperature of the water must be just above freezing. Cooking on the river bank never appealed to me. I have gotten used to my bride’s cooking , served at a table, while I sit in my special chair. Sleeping wrapped in a quilt, lying on a sandy river bank has little charm in it for me. I guess some of us get a little soft as we grow older and wiser. Seasoned is the word I like to use
I got to thinking what that twenty five pound yellow catfish would look like in the back of my old pickup parked in front of Troy’s place. All the men gathered ‘round asking where, what, and how. And me and old John just standing there grinning and saying nothing. By dang, if I am not here next Wednesday about this time, you will know we are up on the Llano having a great time.
A lot of guys used to go fishing like that. Didn’t matter what day of the week or what month it was if the notion struck, they went fishing. Some times they dug a can of worms or made a batch of dough bait. But if they were serious they would seine bait. What they really wanted was a bunch of sun perch about finger long to hook onto their trot line. That was the bait of choice when fishing for catfish. Some believed the size of the perch dictated the size of the catch. John told me that was not so. He said a big catfish will bite a little sun perch but a little catfish can’t bite a big sun perch.
I didn’t sound to eager when John called so he began with a stronger sales pitch. ” We will take along a quilt or two to nap on between running the lines ,”he said.
Fishermen that took pride in their trade looked down on a string of little channel cats. They felt any one could catch those fish. Blue catfish stood a little higher in their estimation but the prize went to the man who caught yellow catfish. He was a man to be admired. Most of the yellow catfish men would share with you how to catch yellows, but they were a little shy about telling you where they fished to catch the big ones. In private they called their special fishing place their “honey holes”, “sweet spots” or sometimes “never fail”.
I still didn’t rise to the bait of going fishing just now. John tried again, playing what he hoped was his ace in the hole. “The moon is in the second quarter, and that is the best time to catch the big yellow cats.” he declared.
While John waited for my answer I got to thinking about the pleasure I would miss if I turned him down. One, this is the middle of March. One day will be the ideal spring day. Then in the middle of the night a flash of light and a rumble of thunder and you whole fishing trip is a soggy mess. And another thing I wasn’t to keen on doing in March was wading the Gabriel to seine sun perch for bait. The temperature of the water must be just above freezing. Cooking on the river bank never appealed to me. I have gotten used to my bride’s cooking , served at a table, while I sit in my special chair. Sleeping wrapped in a quilt, lying on a sandy river bank has little charm in it for me. I guess some of us get a little soft as we grow older and wiser. Seasoned is the word I like to use
I got to thinking what that twenty five pound yellow catfish would look like in the back of my old pickup parked in front of Troy’s place. All the men gathered ‘round asking where, what, and how. And me and old John just standing there grinning and saying nothing. By dang, if I am not here next Wednesday about this time, you will know we are up on the Llano having a great time.
April 3rd, 2007 at 10:59 am
Beautiful story, Hollis. I’ve been itching to go fishing up here myself. The weather has been beautiful.
-Chris Sivori