The Real Truth of Why I Don't Go Fishing
"Before you read the below narrative, I just want to say that I Love women and their various job titles, duties, and how they fish. I am serious."— Me, Kenneth Avery
Modern day, Dec. 9, 2017, 1:40 am., CST., time was, I would be roaring off the light and have a good, old-fashioned, list-based hub written in half an hour depending on how much black coffee I had drank. Not as much right now. I am very tired. You are welcome to drive, fly, or walk to where I live and I will show you all types of welcome—those welcome’s that would make the Old South Tradition of bringing a guest a slice of cornbread to welcome them to their home seem trivial. I am totally serious.
Right now, I stand at 64. In health that I do not care to discuss. Neither do my bevy of highly-paid doctors who work for me via Medicare. One bought himself a new bass boat from the checks Medicare gave him and the wife. Uh, oh. His wife never knew a thing about it. Guess I messed up royally, huh?
Past time, 1976, July. Hottest weather my area had ever faced. Not my dad, rest his soul. Dad was a fishing fool and I think that you know that no offense was meant. But since he was seven, he used to say, he would grab a cane that he made from breaking it off a nearby creek bank when he was a kid and he had the finest fishing rig God ever created. He, dad, not God, loved to dig his bait which were Alabama Red worms—thick, juicy and just right for fish to eat. Wait. This is incorrect. Fish do NOT eat the bait, they swallow the bait for any sharp fisherman (or woman) will tell you that if you are an accomplished fisherman, you can use the same worm as much as four times.
Good to know. Information like that could only be found in my hometown: Hamilton, Ala., the county seat of Marion County—about an hour from Birmingham, Ala., down I-22 West. I just gave you the free directions to where I live in case you want to travel to where I live and get a free slice of cornbread and some great iced tea.
I married a lady in June 1975. Her dad, Orville, his real name, resides in Heaven right now and he was one of those Old School Fishermen who would stay from evening until next morning without sleeping to just catch fish for his family to have for food. Don’t feel sad. Orville had a great paying job at our bearing plant: NTN Bower, on Military St., Hamilton. And the plant is still running hard. Thank God! If only President Trump would take a trip down to where we live—then he could tell Congress about how to create jobs in our area.
Enough of that. I went with my dad and mom one time to fish when my wife and daughter were out of town. On that particular day, I caught six Bluegill, three Bream and a Catfish all from the Old Stand-by: My cane. And red worms. Can’t forget them. Fishing is not fishing without red worms. Ask any pro-fisherman.
I am the type of man that does not have a lot of patience. To prove it. I got irritated at just typing that one sentence. Should have got some Dragon PC software and I could just speak the words into the standard microphone and bam! I could sit back, sip coffee and still produce a near-award-winning narrative.
But I will only continue to stay on the bank or boat (as the man in the photo above) if the fish are biting. If not, I am ready to head for home. Truthfully, I figure that the world we know will not burn if I don’t catch another fish. But that is not to imply that I wouldn’t want to try to catch some fish one day in the early sense of time—and bring my grandson, Gabriel with me. He has been fishing once. And that was with his dad and his uncles. Only three fish were caught the entire night.
Now speaking about women and their fishing habits, I support them all. Women go in a completely different way to fish than us guys. Women have adapted (in short time) how to fuse their homemaking skills (not an ugly word), into fishing and being a success. I am not kidding. You should watch those Pro-BassMaster Women do their thing on the water. Most of these women can out-fish most men. I am not polishing any apples here, just speaking the truth.
Women are so focused in catching their limit of fish that they first clean and organize their fishing spot either in a boat or on the bank. No woman likes to have empty beer cans and bait boxes laying in their way to cause them to take away their fishing. I can easily see why they do the thing that they do. These women want to be a success. And that ain’t hard to understand.
And women, you’d think (and be wrong), about when women go fishing, they got to gossip about someone or something. Wrong. When you go fishing with a woman, she turns into an all-focused, dead-on, wide-open fisher person and you best keep your flap shut or she will Shhhhush you. Now talk about being embarrassed. When your wife or girlfriend shhusshes you, your other fishing pals will snicker and look at you.
Women do bait their own hooks. And I think that you thought that you, their male companion would be called on to do this task. Not! Women are more than capable in the toughest of fishing tasks. I’ve seen this performed.
I would say, and I am not taking anything from our women fisher persons, that if the women overlook how much sun screen to use, then they will let you know that they need to go to the shade—and friends, I have been sun-burned many times and it ain’t fun. Neither is it for women.
Women, when hauling in that “big one” that did not get away, CAN and have taken the fish off the hook and deposited it into a tank in their boat to keep it alive. Seems kinda hypocritical to me. Keeping a fish alive to only take its life that evening to have it for dinner. This bothers me a lot.
But back to the guy (above in the photo), just look at how serene he looks. He is at perfect peace with Nature, his Maker and himself. He has a boat, a fishing line and a quiet place to fish until he chooses to stop and go home.
Utopia. Wish I could find it before my life ends.
© 2017 Kenneth Avery