Reeling In Time with Fish Tales. Brian E. Smith

driftwood he had driven into the sand.

      During the excitement, Dad continued to scan the other fishing rods for a bite, but nothing had happened.

      “Time to re-group,” he said, as he reeled in the left rod, the one most distant from the point. The hotdog bait was still in good shape. He pulled up the forked stick and pushed it back in the sand right next to the stick that held my push-button. Effortlessly, he tossed the bait in the lake close to where the water from the channel flowed.

      “Hey, you’re cheating,” I quipped.

      “No, Champ, I’m sighting-in our fishing rifle. The wide pattern of fishing poles we started out with were set that way so the fish could tell us where they were hiding. Were they cruising the open flats in the lake, near the channel, in the channel, or in the bay? Though one fish doesn’t indicate much, at least, it is something to go on,” Dad was explaining as he pointed here and there in the lake, doing some show and tell fishing.

      “We need to look at your push-button and go over the function of a reel drag,” he said while sitting on the five-gallon bucket, holding my little push-button in his hands. “Look at the fishing line.” Horribly curled up, it was almost in knots. “Let’s take care of this situation first, OK?”

      He cut the line above the swivel at the knot with his pocketknife. The sinker, he put in his pocket. The hook, leader, and swivel remained as one piece, which he laid straight at the base of the bucket he sat on. Handing me my rod, he said, “Push the button for me,” as he began hand-stripping the kinky line from the reel until the line came out smooth. A nip with the knife and the bad line was gone, wadded up, and put in the five-gallon bucket.

      “Dad, the hotdog pole!” I yelled.

      Dad hot walked to the pole. I watched as he, in one single motion, picked up the pole by raising the reel from the ground while keeping the rod tip in the same position, down. He flipped the bail closed, sweeping the rod straight overhead when the line came taut. The rod tip arched downward and the reel drag chirped a bit while Dad was playing the fish in. Halfway in, the fish got mad, making the line squeal off the reel. Not reeling, he kept his rod at the one o’clock position, occasionally dipping his rod hand when the fish surged. When the reel stopped squealing, he started pumping the fish back in by quickly reeling as he lowered the pole to where it was horizontal to the ground, then he would gently raise, not jerk, the pole back to the one o’clock position and start over. At no time did he allow slack in the line. He was just like the TV guys, but this was real! It was exciting to watch it live. In a few minutes, Dad had a two to three pound catfish flopping around at his feet.

      “Let me show you something, Champ.”

      I put the push-button down butt first into the five-gallon bucket before running over to him.

      “These catfish have three sharp spines on them; one fin on the top and one fin on each side.” He pointed out the dorsal and two pectoral fins. “Some people use a rag or glove to handle them, but if you take your time and do it right, you can use your bare hand.” Dad held the fish up so it dangled from the fishing line; then he carefully wrapped his other hand around the tail below the spines. At first, the fish squirmed and rolled around, but in seconds, the fish was used to his touch and calmed down.

      “You have to come from the belly-side so as to avoid the top spine,” Dad said. With that, he slipped his hand gently up the fish to where one pectoral fin was between his forefinger and middle finger, and the other fin was behind his thumb. He clutched the fish firmly but far from a bear grip. A downward twist and the hook came free with a popping sound.

      “Champ, bait my pole with a hotdog and toss it out where it was, please. I’ll put this fish on the stringer.” We met back at the five-gallon bucket where Dad quickly took the sinker from his pocket, threaded it on the line, tied the swivel back on, and said, “Now, let’s finish our talk about the reel drag.”

      He explained to me that the reel drag is a clutch that allows line to slip from the reel when there is a certain amount of pressure on the fishing line. The purpose is to give line from the reel before the line breaks from the force of the fish. It is an adjustable system regulated by turning a small wheel on the reel. Backwards makes it more slippery, forward makes the drag firm. Dad did a show and tell for me. He explained that you can catch big fish on light line because of the reel drag.

      After the lesson, he baited the hook with three good worms saying, “Here you go; you know where to cast it.”

      As I walked down to make the cast, the line on the hotdog pole twitched.

      “Dad, come quick, the hotdog is working again.” The bait had been out there just five minutes. I cast out my push-button as Dad walked over to the hotdog pole.

      “You get it, son.”

      “Really?” I did just as Dad did, but it took a couple minutes before the line shot straight. I set the hook with an up-sweep of the rod. The battle didn’t take long, because the fish didn’t take any drag. Dad was taking off a two pound catfish when he noticed the cinnamon dough pole was having line walking off to the bay.

      “Champ, go get the pole across the point!” I raced up the beach, took a short cut across the point, hopped down the beach on the other side, and picked up the rod. Two seconds after flipping the bail over, I swept the rod up and set off a rocket. Line sang off the reel, startling me how fast line was coming off the spool.

      “DAD!” I could see some of the bare spool when the line stopped going out. I began pumping and reeling the fish like I saw Dad do. The reel job was slow; the fish felt so heavy! Dad came up as I was making progress.

      “Keep up the good work, looks to be a big one.”

      “Yeah, Dad, this is the biggest one so far.”

      Halfway in, the fish took a spirited run back into the bay. I held the rod up and let the line peel off the spool.

      “Great job, Champ!” That comment made me feel real good. Several long minutes later the fish was zig-zagging up and down the shore.

      “It’s a big carp; hang in there,” Dad yelled. I was getting tuckered out. Finally, Dad was able to take the line, lead the fish up on the beach, and grab it. There, standing before Dad was the greatest fisherman in the world!

      Dad picked up the fish from underneath the gill plate and big belly, stating, “This fish must go ten or twelve pounds.”

      I thought it was well over twenty pounds, but I was new to the game asking, “Is that a world record?”

      “No, but it’s still a good fish.” Dad told me to run over to the tackle box and bring the camera back. He hardly blinked before I returned. After briefly explaining the how-to-hold-the-fish instructions, there was an ear-to-ear smile in front of the camera.

      “We’re going to let this one go, Champ.”

      “What are you saying, Dad, this fish is huge.”

      “We have got to show Mom!” He pointed out the set of sucker lips on the fish and told me that carp are bottom feeders. The bay was shallow, and at the time, didn’t have much water exchange, he didn’t want to eat a carp out of that water. I put the carp in the water like putting a baby to bed. At that moment I had mixed emotions, but one strong swish of the tail, splashed water all over my face and the moment was over.

      “Dad, the corn pole!” The rod was whipping up and down. Dad took off like a criminal with a police K-9 behind him. Just before he got there, the rod hopped up in the air and arrowed into the lake. Dad ran out of land, but that didn’t stop him, into the lake, he went. In a semi-dive, he came up with the butt of the rod in one hand in a great spray of water. Dad followed the fish out in water up to his thighs.

      “Champ, get the push-button!” That command snapped me out of his action movie. I got to the push-button and fought a two-pound catfish in but never took my eyes off Dad. He had gained control of the situation. Fighting the fish, while sloshing back to shore, he was in a real fish war. I had dragged my fish back to base camp and met him at the water’s