Gone Fishing With Beer

I remember weekends as a child going fishing with my parents. Fishing was my mom's passion. My dad's official duty was to act as chauffeur.

I truly believe my mom was at peace sitting there on the jetty rocks staring at her pole just in front of her.

It puts a smile on my face as I think of my mom in that setting. She has since passed away. But my siblings and I when we do get together talk about running back and forth to the bait store to get more supplies. And of course, that included beer. According to my mom, a bit of beer poured on the bait helped to lure the fish to her line.

^{Image by Juan Jarimillo from Unsplash}

She must have known what she was talking about because she always caught a bucket load of fish every fishing trip. And the crab. 2 - 3 buckets filled to the brim. When hen we returned home, she cooked the most delicious Louisiana Gumbo you'll ever eat. I was too busy eating all those years to get the recipe. Sorry. I can still smell and taste it, though.

I had an important role. Taking the fish and crab off her line and placing them in the correct recepticles were no easy tasks to be left to amateurs. She only trusted me with this important tasks. But when we returned home, you wouldn't believe how many times my hands were swollen from the fins and claw pricks. I never complained. Eventually I learned how to grab them to avoid injury.

I became the expert handler. It wasn't by no means an accident that I acquired this knowedlge. You see, I got tired of trekking back and forth to the bait store, so I needed to find something else to be useful at. And since my siblings didn't want the fish smell on their hands and clothes, I was the perfect candidate for the job.

Totally amazing to me their way of thinking because you could always wash up in the washhouse before we left so the smell wouldn't penetrate the car. And as all fishermen know, that's the worse smell you can image in hot weather.

Sometimes I think back to the tasks my parents asked us to do. My siblings wanted to stay home while we went on the fishing trips. But oh now, mom wasn't having any of that. Five girls at home alone. Nope, everyone must go!

So no wonder I have a love for fishing. You might ask if I was so busy being the handler, when did I have time to learn how to fish? You'd be amazed how watching and asking question can do for knowledge. And between catches, she'd let me sit next to her and hold her pole. Silence, she'd say. You can't hear the fish talking loud and scaring them.

Now, I'm the fisherman. I love to fish the lower Colorado River. Just like my mom used to sit staring out over the water. But I use a rod and reel. I find myself doing the same thing. My mind is a blank canvas. Internal quiet is needed to hear and feel when my line has been attacked by some smart-[I'll use the word "minded" here] fish. Sometimes the water is a bit choppy, so I can't see the bobbin as it goes under.

It's all about the senses for me. I slowly reel my catch in, then ask my husband to clear the line and restock my baits.

Funny how sometimes life repeats itself.