I saw a dogwood starting to bloom this afternoon. The buds were swaying in the wind and I could see the tips of the embryonic shoots starting to turn green as a signal to everyone that spring is coming. These come every spring like clockwork. Now, to most people it signals the punishment of the pollen season to come, but to me it reminds me of long hot days every weekend my father would take my brother and I took the lake in hopes making up for all the missed father/son time he had missed while we were growing up. Every spring when Granny's front yard dogwoods would bloom, he would take it as his own personal signal from the all mighty fish god that if he dragged Kirk and I out to the lake that the bass minions would be biting so much and readily that it would be as if they were just jumping into the boat wanting to go home with us for a fish dinner.
We rarely caught anything of significance.
My father's idea of proper fishing was to troll up and down the river bank ( Right around here) beating the banks with every type of lure that we could pull out of the tangled tackle box in the bottom of the boat. Now, around this time, I enjoyed watching fishing shows on CMT where hopefully I could get better at catching my elusive prey. I had watched Hank Parker earlier in the week catch huge large mouth bass on an artificial frog which put the idea in me that if I used a frog, I could catch the huge bass he had been pulling in and it would impress my father. But I had a problem. I had used my allowance already buying a He-Man figure. So, I came up with the plan to go out into the woods and capture as many frogs and use them as bait. My mother wouldn't let me take off in the woods after dark but would allow me to take as many as I could catch in the backyard. Now I don't understand where they all came from, but in one evening I captured around 10-15 little leopard toads for my trip to the lake the next day.
I didn't tell Daddy my plan. I wanted so badly to impress him. I snuck the little igloo cooler on the boat and waited patiently for the opportunity to "pull in the big'ens". When we reached the 123 bridge, I set up one of the rods with a live bait rig and lifted up the frog bucket lid. Every single one of them took the sun shining in on them for the first time in 24 hours as a signal to run for their lives. They all at once jumped on me, on the deck, into the cabin area, and in my lunch. As my father was cursed at me for bringing the little amphibians on the boat without him knowing, my little brother was in his usual perch, sitting on the outboard motor as we fish laughing his ass off at me. For the next couple minutes, there was a marathon race of little toads swimming, off the boat, through the water, and into the bushes on the bank.
Not a single one of them was attacked by a fish on their sprint for freedom.
We rarely caught anything of significance.
My father's idea of proper fishing was to troll up and down the river bank ( Right around here) beating the banks with every type of lure that we could pull out of the tangled tackle box in the bottom of the boat. Now, around this time, I enjoyed watching fishing shows on CMT where hopefully I could get better at catching my elusive prey. I had watched Hank Parker earlier in the week catch huge large mouth bass on an artificial frog which put the idea in me that if I used a frog, I could catch the huge bass he had been pulling in and it would impress my father. But I had a problem. I had used my allowance already buying a He-Man figure. So, I came up with the plan to go out into the woods and capture as many frogs and use them as bait. My mother wouldn't let me take off in the woods after dark but would allow me to take as many as I could catch in the backyard. Now I don't understand where they all came from, but in one evening I captured around 10-15 little leopard toads for my trip to the lake the next day.
I didn't tell Daddy my plan. I wanted so badly to impress him. I snuck the little igloo cooler on the boat and waited patiently for the opportunity to "pull in the big'ens". When we reached the 123 bridge, I set up one of the rods with a live bait rig and lifted up the frog bucket lid. Every single one of them took the sun shining in on them for the first time in 24 hours as a signal to run for their lives. They all at once jumped on me, on the deck, into the cabin area, and in my lunch. As my father was cursed at me for bringing the little amphibians on the boat without him knowing, my little brother was in his usual perch, sitting on the outboard motor as we fish laughing his ass off at me. For the next couple minutes, there was a marathon race of little toads swimming, off the boat, through the water, and into the bushes on the bank.
Not a single one of them was attacked by a fish on their sprint for freedom.
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