A tackle box, a day of fishing, a flood of memories
Published 12:00 am Saturday, May 6, 2000
With the fishing opener rapidly approaching, I’m dusting off a column that originally ran several years ago in the Austin Daily Herald.
Saturday, May 06, 2000
With the fishing opener rapidly approaching, I’m dusting off a column that originally ran several years ago in the Austin Daily Herald. Good luck to all the anglers and may your stories be large tales. – Neal
There it was, sitting in a dark, musty corner of the basement. Scars from its battles years ago growing redder with rust by the minute. It was still latched tightly, locking in all the tools of the trade and the memories of days spent thinking, breathing, living.
A flip of the latch and the memories come rushing out. There he is. Straw hat on his head, old open face rod and reel in his hand, can of Copenhagen in his pocket and a smile from ear to ear on his face.
It’s been two years since my grandfather passed away, but every time I get ready to go fishing the memories come flooding back.
His old fishing tackle box is now mine and while I don’t use it, or the tackle in it, I’ve kept it just the same. It was his final gift to me and my grandmother made sure it came to rest with me.
It now purposely rests amongst my modern day fishing gear, sitting next to the jumbo size soft-sided tackle box and the electronic depth finder. Each time I get ready to go on another fishing adventure that old box and tackle sends me drifting back to simpler times with a man who made the world shine.
It seems like yesterday when he first placed an orange vest over my head, handed me a small Zebco rod and reel and took me out on the lake. We would troll for endless hours. Grandfather manning the old Johnson motor and grandson perched at the front of the boat anxiously waiting.
And then the moment would come.
The grin on his face would grow as he chuckled softly. A wink to his grandson and a split-second later a big northern pike would be securely on the other end of his line. Once the fish was safely in the boat the teaching would begin.
"See how you do that?" he would ask. "Patience is the key. It’s about having fun."
It certainly is.
With the northern pike lessons done, it was time to turn to pan fishing. Cane poles were the choice of the day, along with worms.
Lazy summer afternoons were productively spent filling up five-gallon pails with sunfish, perch and crappies, while old fishing stories drifted across the soft breezes. The laughter empties out of grandpa’s old tackle box each time I open it.
I can’t recall many of the specific tales anymore, but his love for fishing and his love for life made it through loud and clear.
I’m not sure if he really knew how much influence he had on my love for fishing, because unfortunately I never really told him. But he passed along an amazing gift and it’s a tradition all anglers and hunters should make an effort to pass on as well.
Fishing with a child or grandchild provides the perfect opportunity to bridge generations and to mold a mutual respect. Today’s world probably would be a little better place if dad and son or grandpa and grandson would spend a little more time fishing.
It may be strange, but old tackle boxes, and the memories within, tend to open our eyes to just what sticks with us, while also sparking the desire to pass along the gifts and wisdom that once were given to us.
Neal Ronquist is publisher of the Austin Daily Herald. His column appears Sundays. E-mail him at neal.ronquist@austindailyherald.com.