Even though it would seem I was just interested in catching fish, I really liked it when Dad took time to explain things to me. I learned a lot when I listened, right from the first time he started teaching.
“Notice where I secured the hook, Champ.”
“You hooked it on the pole hoop; I mean on the rod eye,” I blurted. He drew my attention closer, pointing out that he had hooked it secure to the eye-brace, not the eye itself.
“Never secure a hook to the eye because the hook can chip or burr the inside of the eye, and that tiny bit of damage can shave the line, eventually causing it to break.”
He released line tension, by quickly opening and closing the bail, loosening the line, freeing the hook from the eye brace.
“This is a simple slip rig,” he continued. He passed the ten-pound, test main line through the ring of a 3/8 oz. bell sinker, then tied it to a barrel swivel with an improved clinch knot. The swivel keeps the sinker from sliding all the way to the hook. He tied a two-foot section of thirty-pound, test leader to the other side of the swivel. At the end of the leader, a 1/0 long shank, offset hook was tied.
“A catfish, or any fish for that matter, is apt to drop the bait if it feels the resistance of the sinker. The sinker isn’t fixed to the line with this rig. The fishing line passes through the sinker so the fish doesn’t feel the weight at all.” He demonstrated that on the shore by putting the rig on the sand and telling me to pull on the hook. “Did you feel the sinker?”
“No, sir,” I replied.
Dad asked me for the piece of hotdog. I watched as he inserted the point of the hook down the center of the link until it met the bend of the hook out the side of the wiener, pulling enough of the hook out, embedding the point in the other center end of the hotdog. Next, he held the hotdog in one hand and gently pulled the leader away, tightening up the bait on the hook.
“Remember how I showed you, and toss this toward the middle of the lake.” I’d been practicing in the yard with the spinning rod, so I flipped the bail over after pinching the line against the rod with my forefinger. Slowly I lowered the rod behind my shoulder and with quick motion, I snapped the rod forward, releasing the line about the one o’clock position. The sinker went ten yards and hit the water. The hotdog landed an additional fifty feet further out.
“Nice try, but we have to keep the bait and hook together so the fish get the point, if you get my point,” Dad said. I reeled in, Dad got another hotdog section. “This time, toss it out a little more softly, Champ.” The second time was the charm.
With patience, Dad said, “Now, set the rod in the forked stick like I showed you.” I did, making sure the reel didn’t touch the ground. He came behind me, flipped the bail open, and let out just enough line so that a loose swag of line bowed down from the rod tip. Then, at the reel, he pulled some line to the ground and covered it with a small scoop of sand, leaving the bail open.
“What’s that all about, Dad?” He told me that when a fish picks up the bait it would take the line, making the line straight from the tip to where it enters the water. When the slack line is gone, more line can run out by pulling the line free from the sand. The fish will feel very little resistance as it enjoys its last meal. If the bail was closed, a big fish could drag the rod and reel into the lake before you could get to it. He’s pretty smart, I thought.
“But what would happen if all the line was pulled from the reel and we didn’t notice?” I asked.
“If you don’t pay good enough attention, you lose the rod or go for a swim,” Dad smiled.
With the next pole, Dad just formed a two-inch cube of Velveeta cheese around the hook and I let it fly. We began to set up the rest of the poles.
On the third pole, he threaded kernels of corn on the hook until the corn ran up and covered the hook eye. I reared back and sent that one to the moon!
Pole number four, my push-button, was baited with three fat earthworms and cast to the lakeside of the channel. I picked the earthworm bait for my push-button rod.
At the fifth pole, I thought Dad had cut his finger. Blood was running between his fingers dripping from his hand.
“Dad, are you OK?” He opened his hand to show me a bloody chicken liver.
“It looks ugly, but the catfish will follow that blood trail to the bait.” He hooked the liver on three times and I flipped it to the middle of the channel. He rinsed his hands off in the water.
For the last pole, Dad brought a Tupperware bowl of homemade fish bait we made the night before. It was a mixture of flour, cinnamon, sugar, and water to make dough. It came out stiff, yet sticky, and it smelled like something from the breakfast table.
If I were a fish, I’d eat that, I thought. Dad formed a golf ball sized dough ball around the hook. I pitched it in the bay as soon as he was done.
All the rods were fishing, and it was a waiting game from there on out. Dad sat on the five-gallon bucket, placing the worm bucket in its shadow, so the worms would stay cool and comfortable. I sat on the tackle box. Our heads turned left and right, watching the poles for a bite. From a distance, we looked like we were watching a slow motion tennis match. We talked about a lot of things.
My curiosity got the best of me and I asked, “On this whole big lake, why did you pick here to fish, Dad?”
“Habitat diversity, Champ.” He pointed out that water moved out of the small bay, past the point and into the lake. “The neck of land forces the water to move through a narrow channel and the moving water carries baitfish with it. That means a lot of fish food in a small area, so fish stage-up around and in areas like this to get an easy meal. Furthermore, even slow moving water cuts into the bottom over time, making deep holes. Sometimes fish move into deeper water because it’s a little warmer or cooler making them more comfortable. In a nutshell, places like this offer many opportunities to find the fish without having to move around.”
“Look at the line on my push-button, Dad!
“You’re right; a fish is taking the bait. See the line starting to straighten out.” He said that as we ran for the pole.
“What should I do, Dad?”
“Keep the rod tip low to the water as you pick up the pole, turn the handle to click it in gear, and wait for him to pull the line tight, then set the hook.”
“That’s a lot of stuff to do—” I had the rod in my hand when the line began to tumble out the front of my push-button.
“Champ, click it in gear!” I turned the handle a quarter-turn, engaging the reel. Excitement had strengthened my grip; otherwise, the push-button would have been snatched from my hands. I held the rod up and commenced reeling. The rod tip was yanked down, pointed to the lake.
“What’s that noise…? What’s that noise the reel is making?” The reel was making a ratcheting sound. I looked at the reel, noticing that the line was going in the opposite direction. Somehow, I was reeling out instead of in! I was screwing up the biggest fish of my life! The faster the line reeled out, the higher the pitch of the reel.
“It’s the drag, Champ, it’s the reel drag. When you hear the noise, stop reeling, when you don’t hear the noise, reel smoothly. Trust me; I’ll explain later.” The reel surprising me, too much information, a big fish, all at the same time, had my mind spinning. My body determined that my mind was no longer capable of handling the situation! My body took over, becoming a reel monkey to the background music of Flight of the Bumblebee.
God must have wanted me to have that fish because it was nothing short of a miracle when it wallowed up close enough for Dad to step in shin-deep with one foot to get the line and pull the fish up on shore. He dragged it up high on the beach and hugged me.
I grabbed his neck and blared in his ear “That’s the biggest fish of my life; let’s go show Mom!”
The fish was a four and a half-pound channel catfish