Time to Burn Fishing? Confessions of an Outdoor Writer
By Darrell Pendergrass
People sometimes recognize me in public settings, when we meet they usually comment on how much heavier I look in person and that I need to update my column photo – they say I’m not being very honest with my appearance. Invariably conversation will get around to fishing. “How are the fish biting?” They usually smile.
The assumption is that I get to angle more often than most people. Truth is; I hardly go at all. Seriously; I don’t fish that much, and when I do fish I’m not very good at it. I would suspect that many outdoor writers fish and hunt far more than I do.
Oh, I’m outdoors often enough. However, I’m usually fixing tractors, mowing grass, hauling hay or repairing barns. But there’s a difference between being outdoors and being outside. I’m not in the house much, but I’m not necessarily enjoying myself.
On average I’d say I get to fish about once a week during the summer, at best. It doesn’t seem like a lot; not to me, at least. Even then, sometimes when I do get to go I don’t even have the opportunity to wet a line – the last two times I’ve gone I’ve spent the majority of the trip rowing and positioning the boat in order that my son could fish. That doesn’t count.
There’s a saying among fishermen that God doesn’t count the time you spend fishing against your allotted time on earth. I would have to add that God might not count that time, but wives do. I’ve never once come home and seen – Go Fishing – on the list of chores Queenie has made for me.
I was just on the phone with a fishing friend of mine the other day. He was telling me about how he fishes year round. He catches muskies and walleye and bass, all the time – and he hunts, too; lots of hunting – grouse - deer. And he isn’t married, at least not any more. He seemed pretty happy.
Every now and then a chance sort of comes my way to get out, but then I’ll miss it. For instance – the other day I arrived at home a little later than normal; work having kept me away. At home Jack was stringing up his fly rod down by the garage.
“Where are you going?” I asked. Jack’s just 12-years-old, but he carries himself like he’s much older. He didn’t even look up.
“Dangerous Dan is picking me up in a minute; we’re going to the river to see if the hatch is on.”
Huh? My personal fishing buddy Dan phoned you – Jack – to go fishing with him? “We figured you wouldn’t have time, getting home late and all. Mom says the lawn needs mowing.” He was tying on a brown-dun fly.
I took off my tie in disbelief, too dumbfounded to say anything. My son kept at the business of getting his gear in order. My wife was in the window holding up a list of chores she needed me to address.
“Oh, Dan’s here! See you later, we’ll be back at dark,” Jack said, gathering up his waders. Dan waved and smiled.
The good news is they didn’t catch anything.
However, I shouldn’t be too discouraged with the amount of time I get to fish; I do have a couple of bigger trips planned. In August I’m going to Canada with the usual suspects I go with. New for me, in late June I’m going to the Minocqua area to fish for muskies and walleyes. And in couple of weeks here I’ll be chasing the hex-fly hatch each night. So fishing should get a little better.
And I won’t have to do any rowing. I hope.
Darrell Pendergrass lives in Grand View.