Growing up in the 1950's was a very different experience these kids have now. No video games, walkmen, and even TV was in it's pioneer stage. Kids got outdoors experience playing, and once in a while learning something from one of those older guys who made it through the great depression. Like my Uncle Paul.
Once in a while, Uncle Paul and Aunt Betty would come down and visit, and then we'd have a family outing. Sometimes we'd load up dad's big old Pontiac Star Chief and have a weekend trip. Like to Ocean City Maryland. That meant the beach, the board walk, hot dogs and boardwalk french fries. I don't why, but french fries really do taste better when cooked in the salt air of the ocean.
But fishing with Uncle Paul was a lesson in minimalisim.
We go to walk down to the water, and uncle Paul just has a pole and a small tin from Prince Albert tobacco in his pocket. I ask him what he's gonna use for bait, and he just grins, and says, "We're gonna improvise, kid."
I'm leery, but Uncle Paul is having a great time, so I tag along. We get down to the bridge where RT 50 crosses the inlet, and Uncle Paul sits down on the bank, taking out his tin. He ties a hook on the end of the line, and then puts a small split shot on a few inches before the hook. I'm wondering what he's going to catch with a bare hook, but he has a trick up his sleeve. He takes out a strip of tin foil from his tin, and unrolls it to form a long strip. Then he presses and moulds it around the bare hook, till only the very tip of the barb is sticking out. He smooths it out with the top of his Zippo lighter and thumbnail, and when He's done, he has a oval shaped silver foil lure around the hook.
"Ya see?" he asks me, "It's a lure, and its gonna catch the light and look like a little fish in trouble, hopefully to a bigger fish."
I'm still dubious but I watch and learn. He looks over the dark water under the Rt 50 bridge, and tells me that fish may be dumb, but they like shade on a hot sunny day. He casts over to the other side, but does not reel in the lure, but jerks the tip of the rod in an unsteady way, then reels in a bit, then lets it sink and jerks it some more, until it gets to the surface, then repeats the act. He does this several times with no result, and I'm thinking he needs some bait. About the 5th or 6th time he does this I'm ready to suggest we walk over the bridge to a bait shop, but then something happens. There's a swirling in the water, and suddenly the line starts to buzz out of the reel. Uncle Paul tightens down the drag, and slowly pulls up on the rod tip. Something silvery splashes violently, and Uncle Paul has a fight on his hands. He's careful, never really pulling up too much on the rod, but reeling in when he gets some slack. Soon, he has a very nice Rock fish reeled in. What some people call a sea bass. In those days, there was no limit on the rocks, and this one was a big one. Uncle Paul gets it in and takes out one of his little pen knives. Uncle Paul Worked at the Curtis-Wright engine plant in Patterson New Jersey, and he always had at least a few of the these little jack knives with company logo on them. This one had cracked ice scales and a black logo on it from a tool company, and of course well patined carbon blades. It made very short work of gutting the big rock fish, and a little crowd had gathered around watching Uncle Paul and his make-shift fishing rig. The little advertising jackknife glided through the fish belly and guts like a razor.
"Mister, I never thought you'd get a fish, but I was wrong."Said one man, "I was watching you from the bench there, and I thought you were wasting your time. I sure was mistaking. That's one heck of a fish for a little piece of tin foil."
"Well, I learned back in the hard times, how to make do, and I still like to see once in a while if I can still do it. And that fish don't know it's just a piece of tin foil, it looks shiny and it's moving, and that's what counts. Aw heck, most fishing lures sold ain't for the fish, it's for getting the fisherman to spend his money." replied Uncle Paul. "Hey, you done with that paper? "
The man handed over the newspaper he'd been reading on the shady bench, and Uncle Paul took one sheet of it and wet it, and wrapped it around the fish. Then he took the other dry pages and wrapped them around the fish.
"That will keep it nice and cool, and the sun off till we get home." He said.
Much later, after a nice baked rock fish dinner, Uncle Paul was telling me about the hard times, and the CCC camps. I'll always remember him telling how sometimes you don't have a lot, but then you learn to use just what you have to keep fed. Like a little piece of tin foil and a good sharp knife. I think of dad and Uncle Paul and their Prince Albert tins, and I think that they may have been true survival experts.
Once in a while, Uncle Paul and Aunt Betty would come down and visit, and then we'd have a family outing. Sometimes we'd load up dad's big old Pontiac Star Chief and have a weekend trip. Like to Ocean City Maryland. That meant the beach, the board walk, hot dogs and boardwalk french fries. I don't why, but french fries really do taste better when cooked in the salt air of the ocean.
But fishing with Uncle Paul was a lesson in minimalisim.
We go to walk down to the water, and uncle Paul just has a pole and a small tin from Prince Albert tobacco in his pocket. I ask him what he's gonna use for bait, and he just grins, and says, "We're gonna improvise, kid."
I'm leery, but Uncle Paul is having a great time, so I tag along. We get down to the bridge where RT 50 crosses the inlet, and Uncle Paul sits down on the bank, taking out his tin. He ties a hook on the end of the line, and then puts a small split shot on a few inches before the hook. I'm wondering what he's going to catch with a bare hook, but he has a trick up his sleeve. He takes out a strip of tin foil from his tin, and unrolls it to form a long strip. Then he presses and moulds it around the bare hook, till only the very tip of the barb is sticking out. He smooths it out with the top of his Zippo lighter and thumbnail, and when He's done, he has a oval shaped silver foil lure around the hook.
"Ya see?" he asks me, "It's a lure, and its gonna catch the light and look like a little fish in trouble, hopefully to a bigger fish."
I'm still dubious but I watch and learn. He looks over the dark water under the Rt 50 bridge, and tells me that fish may be dumb, but they like shade on a hot sunny day. He casts over to the other side, but does not reel in the lure, but jerks the tip of the rod in an unsteady way, then reels in a bit, then lets it sink and jerks it some more, until it gets to the surface, then repeats the act. He does this several times with no result, and I'm thinking he needs some bait. About the 5th or 6th time he does this I'm ready to suggest we walk over the bridge to a bait shop, but then something happens. There's a swirling in the water, and suddenly the line starts to buzz out of the reel. Uncle Paul tightens down the drag, and slowly pulls up on the rod tip. Something silvery splashes violently, and Uncle Paul has a fight on his hands. He's careful, never really pulling up too much on the rod, but reeling in when he gets some slack. Soon, he has a very nice Rock fish reeled in. What some people call a sea bass. In those days, there was no limit on the rocks, and this one was a big one. Uncle Paul gets it in and takes out one of his little pen knives. Uncle Paul Worked at the Curtis-Wright engine plant in Patterson New Jersey, and he always had at least a few of the these little jack knives with company logo on them. This one had cracked ice scales and a black logo on it from a tool company, and of course well patined carbon blades. It made very short work of gutting the big rock fish, and a little crowd had gathered around watching Uncle Paul and his make-shift fishing rig. The little advertising jackknife glided through the fish belly and guts like a razor.
"Mister, I never thought you'd get a fish, but I was wrong."Said one man, "I was watching you from the bench there, and I thought you were wasting your time. I sure was mistaking. That's one heck of a fish for a little piece of tin foil."
"Well, I learned back in the hard times, how to make do, and I still like to see once in a while if I can still do it. And that fish don't know it's just a piece of tin foil, it looks shiny and it's moving, and that's what counts. Aw heck, most fishing lures sold ain't for the fish, it's for getting the fisherman to spend his money." replied Uncle Paul. "Hey, you done with that paper? "
The man handed over the newspaper he'd been reading on the shady bench, and Uncle Paul took one sheet of it and wet it, and wrapped it around the fish. Then he took the other dry pages and wrapped them around the fish.
"That will keep it nice and cool, and the sun off till we get home." He said.
Much later, after a nice baked rock fish dinner, Uncle Paul was telling me about the hard times, and the CCC camps. I'll always remember him telling how sometimes you don't have a lot, but then you learn to use just what you have to keep fed. Like a little piece of tin foil and a good sharp knife. I think of dad and Uncle Paul and their Prince Albert tins, and I think that they may have been true survival experts.
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