Michael A. Sawyers
Cumberland Times-News
July 05, 2008 06:38 pm
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Here is a tip for any of you who will be taking a 3-year-old on a fishing trip.
When rebaiting the hook you need to do one of two things. One of those things is to tell the young angler to put the fishing rod on the ground.
If you choose not to take that approach, the other option is to wrap the line above the hook around your hand a number of times.
Anglers of this age get sudden urges to move off toward a butterfly or to grab a handfull of rocks to throw in the pond or simply jerk the rod skyward doing some play-fishing.
Any of these actions result in a hook being buried in your hand if you have not taken one of these precautions.
So there I was, rebaiting Brady’s hook with a fat worm. The worm, at Brady’s insistence, had been washed in the water of Fort Ashby Reservoir.
“I wash the worm, Pappy,” I was told.
“Works for me, Brady,” I said.
It worked for the bluegill as well. Brady, my grandson, caught six of the sunnies, unsuccessfully attempted to catch butterflies and successfully decreased the depth of the impoundment by tossing several hundred small rocks into it.
West Virginia Conservation Officer Dave Long was making his rounds and stopped for a chat, even skipping a couple rocks across the surface at Brady’s urging. Dave has a pretty good arm.
Actually, it was Officer Long who taught Brady to cast his Spiderman fishing rod.
As Brady was flailing away and Dave and I were talking about spring gobbler hunting, Dave told him, “You’ve got to push the button on top, Bud.”
Like magic, Brady pushed it and sent a 25 yard perfect cast, smiley face bobber, clean worm and all, lakeward.
“That’s a big mountain,” Brady said, referring to Knobley Mountain as we drove to it and over it on the way from Rawlings to Fort Ashby.
Any mountain, any hill for that matter, would be considered big to someone who lives in the flatlander country of southwestern Kansas.
The trip to the reservoir was special. It continued a family tradition. That’s the same body of water where I took his dad, Ryan, and his uncles, Jake and Seth, to fish for bluegills when they were of the Spiderman fishing rod age.
Ryan couldn’t make this fishing trip. He was busy in Illinois coaching the Springfield Sliders which, this past Monday, clinched the first half of the Central Illinois Collegiate Baseball League with a 17-4 record, assuring themselves of a playoff spot in August.
When our daughter-in-law, Jaime, and the kids returned to their home for the summer in Illinois, she took Ryan a touch of home, toting Caporale’s Pepperoni Rolls and Grandma Utz’s Handcooked Potato Chips, which are not available in the Land of Lincoln.
Soon I’ll probably be buying a Cinderella fishing rod if there is such a thing. Chelsea, Brady’s 2-month-old sister — whom we all call Baby Flower because that’s the pre-birth name Brady gave her — looks as if she is going to be a pretty good fishergirl in a year or three. Right now she is mostly interested in eating and sleeping and has a way of letting you know when she wants something.
Brady’s mom, Jaime, put a harness on the youngster and, although I didn’t need to use it, knowing it was available for the grabbing gave me some confidence along the edge of the water. I’d recommend that kind of setup for any grandparent who has lost a step.
The water near us was not deep, but if you find yourself along a shoreline that descends quickly, it would make perfect sense to me to have your beloved young person wear a personal flotation device.
After all, none of us would want a fun day of worm washing to turn into something else.
Contact Michael A. Sawyers at msawyers@times-news.com.
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