Fishing: A Lucky Afternoon

A bit of success, I know, goes a long ways towards increasing your enthusiasm for this or any other endeavor.

Fishing: A Lucky Afternoon

    This column was published Oct. 17, 1994--29 years ago. Bradley will turn 35 on Oct. 31st.

     A couple of weeks ago, son Bradley and I escaped from the routines of our so-called regular life—the daily hustle and bustle—and went fishing. It was late afternoon, with only a stiff breeze out of the west to disturb an otherwise mild and soothing setting.

   The waters were an intermingle of blues and browns, with the light from the low-lying sun reflecting brightly off the surface. Autumn colors had already begun appearing in the nearby maples and the underlying brush. As fortune would have it, we had this section of river pretty much to ourselves.

    Bradley stood on a wooden dock that’s been built next to the boat launch. The walkway juts several yards out into the river, allowing him to cast into a surrounding semi-circle rather than only straight ahead. He needs all the room he can get. His technique is to reach back, with arms and pole, twisting his body to the right. Then like a big round-house curveball thrower, he suddenly comes forward. His casts shoot off with some distance, but where they go is another matter. If you’re too close beside him, the instinct (like the baseball hitter’s) is to duck.

    I picked a spot several yards away, under a shade tree where I could sit. I cast the line and hook, hopeful of luring a scrappy bluegill to the attached worm.

     Nearing the ripe old age of six, my son is still new to the fishing business; this indulgence some have described as “madness.” I’ve been away from it for awhile, having allowed other activities to take precedent. Such pleasures can easily slip away when we push them towards the background. “Going fishing” requires a certain amount of effort and decisiveness and, too often, it’s easier to mow the lawn or flop into the armchair and attempt a nap.

    But young sons are not so inclined. They demand a certain amount of stimulation and energy releases. Fishing—being an individual pursuit—keeps Bradley occupied and (for me) is one step above the easy chair and certainly beats yard work.

    The afternoon slipped away as we made our casts and then studied the bobber for movement. I kept an eye on mine, but mostly I studied Bradley’s. A bit of success, I know, goes a long ways towards increasing your enthusiasm for this or any other endeavor. Fortunately, we land a couple. While neither one was very big, they’re still edible.

   “That was a pretty lucky cast I made, wasn’t it Dad?” Bradley stated after I unhooked his fish and put it in the pail. It was more statement than question. Luck is, of course, central in the fisherman’s metaphysics, explaining all sorts of triumphs and mishaps. Bradley has apparently already gleaned that core element.

  “I sure was,” I tell him… a lucky cast that caught the fish and a lucky afternoon of being together.

Steve Horton is a mid-Michigan journalist and editor-publisher of the ‘Fowlerville News & Views’—weekly newspaper.