The two young men watched from the river bank, as the old man got out of the car and walked down to the river. It was a sunny afternoon, and the young men had taken off work to go fishing, and they halfway resented the arrival of another human being in their world. Then they snickered as they saw he was carrying only a cane pole to fish with. He had no tackle box, and one young man turned to the other.
"Hey, he must of read Huck Finn too many times when he was young."
The laughed at their joke and continued to cast out one fancy lure after another.
"May as well go home old timer," one called to the old man, "they ain't biting today!"
The old man just nodded and smiled at them. "Well, I drove out here, may as well wet a line."
The two young men watched as the old man scanned the river bank with care, and made his way over to where a large sprawling tree overhung the bank. The river was in deep shade there, and the roots of the tree clung to the undercut back, where the water had eaten away at the earth, leaving a deep shaded place. With slow care, the old man put together the two pieces of his cane pole, and took a beat up Altoids tin from his pocket. Selecting a small home made fly from the little tin box, he tied it one line, all the time staying well back from the river bank. He swung the line out over the deep shaded pool and ever so gently let the fly just touch the water, once, twice and a third time. The final time he let it drift on the surface of the water for a minute. He repeated this a few times, much to the amusement of the two young men who snickered at him.
Suddenly, the fly vanished in a large splashing, and the old man pulled up on the cane pole, bringing a thrashing silvery shape into view. He landed the fish and took it off the line and onto a stringer. The two young men stopped snickering, and started to watch with interest.
It took a while, not every time was a fish pulled in. But the old man was having a pretty successful afternoon. The two young men made a good show of casting their fancy spinner and popper lures way out, and cranking them back, but soon it was clear the old man was catching more fish. One turned to the other.
"I can't stand it, Joe. What the hell is he doing to catch all those fish with just that dumb pole and a little box of stuff in his pocket? I gotta ask."
"Okay, but this is embarrassing."
It had been over an hour, and the old man had a modest stringer of fish, and was breaking down his cane pole. As the two young men came over, he knelt down to clean his catch. He looked up.
"Hello young fellas, how ya doing?" he asked in a friendly manor.
"Uh, good. Good day to be out on the river, huh?" said one.
"Yes sir, good day indeed. Good day to be anywhere, but a bad day fishing is better than a good day at work. Thank God I'm retired and not punching a clock anymore." said the old man with a large smile.
"Okay, I gotta ask ya, how the heck are you getting those fish? I got all the latest stuff the guy at the store says works, but you're getting two or three fish to our one. What's the secret?"
The old man glanced up the river bank to where the big tackle box was open, both the double lift out trays showing the lures the men had been trying. He smiled a little, and gathered in his stringer to clean them.
"Well young fella, those lures are good lures, and do exactly what they were designed to do. The catch greenbacks pretty good. Fish, I don't know about. I was taught by my daddy and granddaddy to use what looks like what fish usually eat. Like this."
He handed one them a lure that nothing more than a small hook with what looked like some hair tied on with very fine thread, and a dollip of epoxy just under the eyelet that had been painted a bright blue. It looked like a large bug of some sort. The two young men stared in amazement at the homemade fly, and shook their heads.
"Is that it?"asked one.
While he was talking to them, the old man had reached into his pocket and taken out a small two bladed jackknife with yellow handles. It was so small that they had trouble seeing it in the old mans knarled hands. The old man pulled open the main blade, and they saw the two inch needle pointed little gray blade that had been sharpened down over many years to a slim pointy little profile.
"Well, sometimes simple is good. But some of it is where you fish." He said as he worked. They watched as the old man slipped the blade in behind the jaw, and with what looked like a flick of his wrist, he opened up the fish belly like a surgeon. He quickly scraped out the guts, and moved onto the next fish. As he cleaned, he spoke.
"Look where you're fishing. Nice open spot where you can get a nice big swing to cast out there a ways. Trouble is, the fish ain't out there. Fish are a lot like us. On a nice warm sunny day, they like shade just like we do. You want to set up in a shady spot, where the water is deep, and it's there you'll find the fish. Like here." the old man pointed to the deep under cut in the bank, where the sprawling tree kept out the sun.
They were watching him clean the fish, and it was apparent the little yellow handle knife was sharp as a razor. It sliced through the fish with a single quick cut, and the old man was clearly used to using it. The fish guts fell into the water with a soft plop, and a school of tiny minnows were nibbling at the fish guts floating in the water. The two young men watched in facination as the old man worked. One of them got a funny look on his face.
"Uh, Sir, what kind of knife is that?" he asked the old man.
The old man held out his hand, with the little yellow handle knife on it.
"That son, is a Case. Nuthin fancy, just a couple of good old carbon steel blades. Some folks call it a peanut. I've been toting that knife around for a very long time, and its become like an old friend. It's hard to wrong with Case, although there's lots of newer fancy knives on the market. But I just stick with whats worked for me almost my whole life."
"Wow, that looks real similar to the pocket knife my grandpa used to carry. I was a little kid when he'd take me fishing, and I remember that little pocket knife. He'd do anything with it. Clean fish, ream his pipe bowel, sharpen forked sticks to rest our poles on. He always had that little knife on him. " said the young man.
The old man had done gutting the fish and stood up, straitening his back. Looking around, he went and picked up a stick and took broke it over his knee, so he had a foot of stout inch thick wood. Taking the little yellow handle knife, he cut a flat spot in one end, and then carefully bored a shallow indentation on one end. He folded up the knife and dropped it in his pocket, and took out the Altoids tin. Taking out a beer bottle cap with a hole in the center of it, and a brass wood screw, he screwed the bottle cap onto the stick using a keychain screw driver. Fish scales flew as he worked the bottle cap on the fish.
"The missus don't like fish scales on her counter tops." he said as he worked.
The two young men looked at each other in amazement.
"I got over a hundred bucks of stuff in my rig, and this guy does better with a cane pole and a tackle box that fits in an Altoids tin. Makes me think that maybe it's time to rethink my tactics." one said to the other.
"Well, young fella, think of it this way. Mankind has been fishing a long time before they made all those fancy do-dads they love to sell. My daddy once told me that fishing lures are more about catching fishermen than fish. Once I asked him about the fancy lures, and he told me; 'We're going fishing, not decorating a Christmas tree.' Daddy was one of those guys who lived through the depression, and I recall many's the time he told me that they had little more than some side meat, flour, and coffee. So daddy took his fishing right serious, because it was food on the table. Sometimes you can get over complicated in things."
The old man had finished, and was ready to leave.
"You guys take care now." he said as he walked away back to the road.
The two young men walked back to their fishing spot, and the one was looking down at his gear.
"What are ya thinking? " asked his friend.
"Thinking how much I can get for all this stuff at the next yard sale my folks have. Maybe it's time to simplify. And I think I know where my grandpa's old knife is in the desk in the den. Maybe I'll carry it for a while.
"Hey, he must of read Huck Finn too many times when he was young."
The laughed at their joke and continued to cast out one fancy lure after another.
"May as well go home old timer," one called to the old man, "they ain't biting today!"
The old man just nodded and smiled at them. "Well, I drove out here, may as well wet a line."
The two young men watched as the old man scanned the river bank with care, and made his way over to where a large sprawling tree overhung the bank. The river was in deep shade there, and the roots of the tree clung to the undercut back, where the water had eaten away at the earth, leaving a deep shaded place. With slow care, the old man put together the two pieces of his cane pole, and took a beat up Altoids tin from his pocket. Selecting a small home made fly from the little tin box, he tied it one line, all the time staying well back from the river bank. He swung the line out over the deep shaded pool and ever so gently let the fly just touch the water, once, twice and a third time. The final time he let it drift on the surface of the water for a minute. He repeated this a few times, much to the amusement of the two young men who snickered at him.
Suddenly, the fly vanished in a large splashing, and the old man pulled up on the cane pole, bringing a thrashing silvery shape into view. He landed the fish and took it off the line and onto a stringer. The two young men stopped snickering, and started to watch with interest.
It took a while, not every time was a fish pulled in. But the old man was having a pretty successful afternoon. The two young men made a good show of casting their fancy spinner and popper lures way out, and cranking them back, but soon it was clear the old man was catching more fish. One turned to the other.
"I can't stand it, Joe. What the hell is he doing to catch all those fish with just that dumb pole and a little box of stuff in his pocket? I gotta ask."
"Okay, but this is embarrassing."
It had been over an hour, and the old man had a modest stringer of fish, and was breaking down his cane pole. As the two young men came over, he knelt down to clean his catch. He looked up.
"Hello young fellas, how ya doing?" he asked in a friendly manor.
"Uh, good. Good day to be out on the river, huh?" said one.
"Yes sir, good day indeed. Good day to be anywhere, but a bad day fishing is better than a good day at work. Thank God I'm retired and not punching a clock anymore." said the old man with a large smile.
"Okay, I gotta ask ya, how the heck are you getting those fish? I got all the latest stuff the guy at the store says works, but you're getting two or three fish to our one. What's the secret?"
The old man glanced up the river bank to where the big tackle box was open, both the double lift out trays showing the lures the men had been trying. He smiled a little, and gathered in his stringer to clean them.
"Well young fella, those lures are good lures, and do exactly what they were designed to do. The catch greenbacks pretty good. Fish, I don't know about. I was taught by my daddy and granddaddy to use what looks like what fish usually eat. Like this."
He handed one them a lure that nothing more than a small hook with what looked like some hair tied on with very fine thread, and a dollip of epoxy just under the eyelet that had been painted a bright blue. It looked like a large bug of some sort. The two young men stared in amazement at the homemade fly, and shook their heads.
"Is that it?"asked one.
While he was talking to them, the old man had reached into his pocket and taken out a small two bladed jackknife with yellow handles. It was so small that they had trouble seeing it in the old mans knarled hands. The old man pulled open the main blade, and they saw the two inch needle pointed little gray blade that had been sharpened down over many years to a slim pointy little profile.
"Well, sometimes simple is good. But some of it is where you fish." He said as he worked. They watched as the old man slipped the blade in behind the jaw, and with what looked like a flick of his wrist, he opened up the fish belly like a surgeon. He quickly scraped out the guts, and moved onto the next fish. As he cleaned, he spoke.
"Look where you're fishing. Nice open spot where you can get a nice big swing to cast out there a ways. Trouble is, the fish ain't out there. Fish are a lot like us. On a nice warm sunny day, they like shade just like we do. You want to set up in a shady spot, where the water is deep, and it's there you'll find the fish. Like here." the old man pointed to the deep under cut in the bank, where the sprawling tree kept out the sun.
They were watching him clean the fish, and it was apparent the little yellow handle knife was sharp as a razor. It sliced through the fish with a single quick cut, and the old man was clearly used to using it. The fish guts fell into the water with a soft plop, and a school of tiny minnows were nibbling at the fish guts floating in the water. The two young men watched in facination as the old man worked. One of them got a funny look on his face.
"Uh, Sir, what kind of knife is that?" he asked the old man.
The old man held out his hand, with the little yellow handle knife on it.
"That son, is a Case. Nuthin fancy, just a couple of good old carbon steel blades. Some folks call it a peanut. I've been toting that knife around for a very long time, and its become like an old friend. It's hard to wrong with Case, although there's lots of newer fancy knives on the market. But I just stick with whats worked for me almost my whole life."
"Wow, that looks real similar to the pocket knife my grandpa used to carry. I was a little kid when he'd take me fishing, and I remember that little pocket knife. He'd do anything with it. Clean fish, ream his pipe bowel, sharpen forked sticks to rest our poles on. He always had that little knife on him. " said the young man.
The old man had done gutting the fish and stood up, straitening his back. Looking around, he went and picked up a stick and took broke it over his knee, so he had a foot of stout inch thick wood. Taking the little yellow handle knife, he cut a flat spot in one end, and then carefully bored a shallow indentation on one end. He folded up the knife and dropped it in his pocket, and took out the Altoids tin. Taking out a beer bottle cap with a hole in the center of it, and a brass wood screw, he screwed the bottle cap onto the stick using a keychain screw driver. Fish scales flew as he worked the bottle cap on the fish.
"The missus don't like fish scales on her counter tops." he said as he worked.
The two young men looked at each other in amazement.
"I got over a hundred bucks of stuff in my rig, and this guy does better with a cane pole and a tackle box that fits in an Altoids tin. Makes me think that maybe it's time to rethink my tactics." one said to the other.
"Well, young fella, think of it this way. Mankind has been fishing a long time before they made all those fancy do-dads they love to sell. My daddy once told me that fishing lures are more about catching fishermen than fish. Once I asked him about the fancy lures, and he told me; 'We're going fishing, not decorating a Christmas tree.' Daddy was one of those guys who lived through the depression, and I recall many's the time he told me that they had little more than some side meat, flour, and coffee. So daddy took his fishing right serious, because it was food on the table. Sometimes you can get over complicated in things."
The old man had finished, and was ready to leave.
"You guys take care now." he said as he walked away back to the road.
The two young men walked back to their fishing spot, and the one was looking down at his gear.
"What are ya thinking? " asked his friend.
"Thinking how much I can get for all this stuff at the next yard sale my folks have. Maybe it's time to simplify. And I think I know where my grandpa's old knife is in the desk in the den. Maybe I'll carry it for a while.
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