"For the Love of Fishing" March 2002

The smell of Spring flows over Long Island as the tree awake from their long winter sleep. The cold, hard ground cracks open to let the crocuses bring color to a once grey ground. Life begins to stir once more. The lake's water sheds their ice, and a young child digs up his bamboo pole from the basement. No more than a few yards of string and a few hooks. He scrambles around the house to find a cork from Sunday's bottle of wine from Sunday dinner. His face lights up as he grabs an empty coffee can and walks down to the stream for some worms and then his routine journey to the lake. His feet quickens as he gets closer to his favorite fishing hole. There's still a chill to the air, but that doesn't stop his excitement. The trees above his head are full of birds that had just arrived from their long migration. His knots are not from any book and his hooks are not of any fancy make. Just the bare essentials, from the heart of the life and love of fishing. It is in his heart as an Islander. Born and raised with the smell of salt and the small spring fed ponds of the Island, he sitsdown by an old oak tree placing his cans of worms next to him and tosses his line out in the calm, still water. The only ripple is from the cork. He stares at that cork in anticipation of movement. The cork makes a slight bobbing. His heart is alive as the bober sinks beneath the service. He pulls back on his 10 foot bamboo pole and pulls up a spring crappie. It is magic as the fish land on the dirt. He grabs it and stare down on its colors. That smell brings it all back to him. The smell of life in his hands. He pulls a clothes hanger rope which he stole from the backyard and had cut a piece with his Weblo knife, slides it through the gill plate and through the mouth. Proud little fisherman. He sets his line out for another and life is great. Not a worry in the world. Just one priority, catch enough for lunch and to show off to the neighbors for they always knew this boy came home with a catch. He had the magic feel and a sick sense of where the fish always were. He loves to explore every inch of the ponds. You could always find him trucking through the streams in search of a new fishing hole. Heaven is where you find it and fishing was a slice served warm to him. Not a worry in the world. Just one priority, catch enough for lunch and to show off to the neighbors for they always knew this boy came home with a catch. He had the magic feel and a sick sense of where the fish always were. He loves to explore every inch of the ponds. You could always find him trucking through the streams in search of a new fishing hole. Heaven is where you find it and fishing was a slice served warm to him. Spring is on the fence and somewhere that boy is digging that bamboo pole. For the smell of Spring is in the air and the wind smell a little sweeter and the sun shines a little brighter.

 

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