The Fisherman by Tom Keer originally printed in the ICAST Show Guide

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e a d si t w a s a n d t h a t m e a n t b a s so n t h e g l a c i a l k e t t l ep o n d .T h e s em i l l e n n i aol l d w a t e r s h e d sa r e a s clear as a freshly-washedwindow. Fed by springs thev feature lots of texture in the form of drop o f f s , c o v e s ,a n d e d g e s . F i v e p l u s p o u n d b u c k e t m o u t h s a r e a f r i n g e b e n e f i t , a n d s o I p a c k e d u p m y s o f t p l a s t i c s ,s t i c k - a n d c r a n k b a i t s ,a n d w e n t f a r a f i e l d t o a s m a l l p o n d t h a t s e l d o m gets any attention.

I tucked my truck in an area thick with pitch pines and scrub oaks, and followed the edge of a farmer's field.

Mr.Brown recently disked last year's manure slurry so as to plant his silage corn, and that made the smell of Holsteinand Belted Galloways pungent. The wind was a light variable Southwest, and on it were carried both the courting sounds of Baltimore orioles and the summoning call of a bobwhite quail looking to regroup with his covey.

When I was done fishing which would be when dusk approached I would leave the pond. l'd study the path with my flashlight and listen to the chorus of peepers.

A few days ago my friend Roger fished the pond and told me it had turned over. He landed several good bass that moved from the deeper water to the edge of the shallows.

Johnnyroachand pumpkinseeds were making redds in the

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s o f t s a n d b e t w e e nt h e c a t t a i l sa n d t h e l i l y p a d sa n d b a s s a m b u s h e ds c h o o l so f s h i n e r sd, a c e ,a n d l e e c h e so n t h e e d g e .

The closer I got to the spot the faster I walked.Spring was in t h e a i r a n d i t w a s a l s oi n m y s t e p .

I snakedmy way through the path that lead to the water's edge,and my dreamsof being in high cotton ended immediately.A father and his son alreadyoccupiedthat spot, and that fact lit my temper on fire. Few if any folks knew about this area,and I immediatelysuspectedRogeralso told them about it and that they were his friends.By defaultthey'd be my friendstoo, onesthat beat me to my spot. " M o r n i n g , "I s a i d .T h e yw h i p p e da r o u n di n s u r p r i s e .

"Hey,"said the father.

D a d w a s y o u n g e rt h a n m e b y a f e w d e c a d e sa n d h e w a s t a n .

T h e r ew a s a r e d d i s ht i n t t o h i s s k i ns o h e w a s e i t h e rf i s h i n g yesterday,but his facial colorationmay have come from b e i n g m i f f e d .H i ss o n l o o k e dm e n a c i n g l ya t m e , s o m u c h so that if he wore an extra hundred pounds on his scrawny frame I'd havetaken more notice than I did.

"Are you friendswith Roger?"I asked.

"Rogerwho?" Dad asked."l don't know anyonenamedRoger."

The boy father. I

"Well, tt for a bit " S u i ty o

The sun against away to I was ri!

"Wheni "You've "Cast in "t did."

"Next tir " t d i d , "I "When i "Takear you reel

Fishing them,ar suspect

JULY 14

than catching,that it was nice to be in nature and to listen to the birds sin9. I'd want to gag when I heard it mostly because I've heard it before, particularly when I was his age.

A n y f i s h e r m a n r e g a r d l e s so f a g e k n o w s t h e s i m p l e t r u t h : we go fishing to catch fish.Sure the rest is nice and all that, b u t w h e n a f i s h g r a b s y o u r l u r e ,t u g s y o u r r o d , a n d m a k e s your reel scream is where the rubber meets the road. Nature is better enjoyed after fish are caught which means that comments about the beauty of the day are usuallymade by someone who already has caught'em up.

But Dad said none of it. He didn't yell at the boy to quit whining. He didn't get frustrated and pack up and go home.

I n s t e a d ,D a d t o l d s o n n y b o y w h a t w a s e x p e c t e d o f h i m . H e told him where to cast, how to cast, and how to swim his lure.He held the boy accountable for botched presentations and insoired him to do better.

"Roger is a buddy of mine. He'sthe only one I know of that fishes here."

S i l e n c e ." l d o n ' t k n o w h i m .l s t u d i e d a t o p o map and we hiked in from the parking lot.

"That's a long hike."

"Yeah," Dad laughed. "l heard about it every step of the way."

boyturned his wrath away from me and towards his I rememberedthose davs. t h i ss p o t i s a l i t t l e s m a l l f o r t h r e e , s o l ' l l j u s t h a n g o u t a bit before I hike out. lt's a long way as you know."

yourself." s u nw a s c l i m b i n g a b o v e t h e t r e e l i n e a n d I p a r k e d m y s e l f a big pine. The son forgot about me and chatted t o h i sd a d . I p e g g e d h i m f o r s o m e t h i n g o f a w h i n e r a n d right. a r ew e g o i n g t o c a t c h s o m e t h i n g ? " h e s a i d . got to cast a little bit further than you are," Dad said.

intothe current." time,castjust a bit farther." " h es a i da n d p a u s e d ". T h i si s n o f u n , "h e a d d e d

It was tough on the old man, I could see that. The boy flubbed three dozen casts, one right after the other. He wasn't paying attention, so some crashed into the water with a spat while others hung in the lily pads. The back of his neck was bright red and it wasn't from sunburn. Dad sparingly dispensed simple advice,and all of a sudden the build up was too much. All the while the boy whined away until suddenly he had enough.

On his next cast the brat moved the rod over his shoulder, paused for a moment, and then fired out a cast. His lure sailed a perfect 20 feet beyond the current seam, he d r o p p e d h i s t i p t o t h e w a t e r ' s s u r f a c e ,a n d h e s k i l l f u l l y twitched a few times. WHAM. The rod danced and a nice bass broke through the water's s u r f a c e .T h e b o y ' s r e e l s a n g t h a t w o n d e r f u l s o u n d o f l i n e peeling off the spool. The two men didn't know if they s h o u l d l a u g h , h o l l e r ,o r w h a t , a n d t h e b o y l e a n e d f o r w a r d and put the boots to that fish. He fought it well, and cranked when the spool stopped singing.He let the fish run when it turned. With that grab the boy's stress and struggles were washed away.lt didn't matter if the fish was big or small,if it jumped or sounded, if he landed it or it got away. Fishing suddenly made senseto him as it always does. I smiled and stood up.

It wasn't my place to interrupt the moment so I snuck out through the brush. I wouldn't be fishing this spot anytime soon, because now that the boy hooked up those fellas would be here until sunset.Maybe they had nothing else in common, but for now they were bound together and tight.

I wanted to remember them as a father and son connected t h r o u g h f i s h i n g ,a n d t o m e t h a t w a s m o r e i m p o r t a n t t h a n anything else.

issomethinggoing to hit? This is boring."

anothercast and rememberto twitch your tip when reel.Twitchit iust a little " teaches us many lessons, patience being one of and I felt a sermon was about to be preached.

Dad would tell the bov there is more to fishinq

I was out of sight but within earshot when I heard to boy say "hey,where did that guy go? | want to show him my fish!"

Son, you already did. ! ,t.:! t'.i,),t|, ,\tt:.,t:t.,:rt

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