The ten-year-old boy looked bewildered as his uncle tied the red-and-white bomber onto his pale blue monofilament line. “Why does it go backwards?” His uncle paused, took one last deep drag before tossing his Lucky Strike, exhaled, and said “Dunno. Maybe it’s supposed to look like a crawdad.” The boy just shook his head, held down the button on his Zebco 202, and tossed the plug into the dark pool, just on the edge of the stand of cattails, and began his slow retrieve.
The sun rose hot that August day, on the final morning of the boy’s first fishing trip with his cousin. They rowed the dilapidated dinghy to a quiet, shaded cove on Hunnewell Lake and anchored just on the edge of the brightly-colored lily pads. The Zebco 202 whirred as he tossed his Heddon Zara Spook to the far edge of the floating foliage and the lure landed with a quiet plop, just six inches from the largest pad. He began his slow retrieve, and his heart pounded as he saw the slow-moving shadow emerge from beneath the pad, closing on his lure.
“Trust me,” said the old man standing and peering over the surface of the lake. “I’ve been on these waters my whole life. I know these fish. Just let that plug lay out there a full minute, till all the ripples are gone Then jerk your rod to make her plop and go under, and reel as fast as you can for about four or five feet to make her dart back and forth. That makes the bass mad.” So he did it. And sure enough, on the first cast and retrieve, he made a four-pound, nineteen-inch large-mouth bass mad.
It made no sense to the boy, tugging on a pair of oars, rowing a John boat across the spacious Hunnewell Lake. His uncle told him this is how trolling works. “You just cast as far behind the boat as you can, prop your rod-and-reel in the stern, and let the jerking motions of the boat provide the action for the lure.” No sooner than the uncle spoke those words, the boy let out a gasp as he saw the three-pound large-mouth bass launch from the distant wake of the boat, shaking his head back and forth, the brightly-colored lure flashing next to his gills.
The Red River stills flows through my home town
Rollin’ and tumblin’ on its way
Swirling around the old bridge pylons
Where a boy fishes the morning away
His bicycle leans on an oak tree
While the cars rumble over his head
An aeroplane leaves a trail in an empty blue sky
And the young birds call out to be fed.
(text by Neil Young, “It’s a Dream”)
The aging artist angled his Jeep into the diagonal parking lane at the Gardens. It was Good Friday, the sun was emerging slowly from leaden, overcast skies, and the Gardens were beginning to come alive with walkers, joggers, photographers, and children at play. Setting up his easel in a stand of pines, the man trained his eye on the bark of one solitary trunk, and considered how he would go about rendering its gnarled portrait against a forest-green field of shaded pine needles.
Today concluded our four days of STARR testing. As I walked about the room filled with ten students testing, monitoring their work, I composed five new narratives for these new greeting cards coming out at tomorrow’s festival. It was a good way to spend the walking around time, and helped the day pass.
Time to pack and load.
Thanks for reading.
Tags: art festival, art in the park, It's a Dream, Kennedale Texas, Neil Young, vintage fishing lures
April 6, 2013 at 4:03 pm |
Pleasure meeting you today David! Glad I snagged the “Lurking Bomber” original. I’ll have Sarah bring in those lures we talked about this week. I might have to buy your originals of those as well! Thanks for holding the guitar watercolor for me also.
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April 6, 2013 at 4:48 pm |
The pleasure was mine, Reid. Thanks so much for coming by, introducing yourself to me, and taking an interest in my work. And thanks for the generous loan of the vintage fishing tackle. I’m looking forward to making that into a project. You have me excited over playing the guitar again.
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April 9, 2013 at 11:27 am |
I encourage you in playing the guitar. We all need a hobby and since I earn a living with the guitar my hobby is my fishing. Let me know if you have any guitar related queries and please link me to your facebook if you have one.
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April 9, 2013 at 3:09 pm |
Great to find you on facebook, Reid. Thank you for accepting me. And thanks for your inspiration on the guitar. I’ve picked mine back up, and love the way it’s responding.
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May 14, 2015 at 7:10 am |
I wonder if I might use the Google posted image of your vintage lure box to illustrate my verse. Please let me know if it’s OK. Debbie Guzzi – aleezadelta@aol.com
The Mirage
Boxed lures lay: belly-up, forlorn, caste off sinkers,
line-less, relics of peaceful bygone days. In vaudevillian
colors of corny-orange: their hooks rusty, their prongs
dulled in an unalluring huddle; the bait lies unused
their drawers lowered like fathers, they recall summer
days with their flies down fondly. The boxed lures lay
belly-up forlorn, caste offs: boat-less, rod-less reminders
upon rickety tables, these tabled reveries of mist and sun
conjoin in conjugal tension. Soon sold to gen-millennial
to: decorate walls, ghost grandparents, mind-meld the screen
dancers to the much missed external world. Where the
fish-belly white daughters and sons could sun with fathers
disconnected from the umbilical cord of the Protestant
work ethic. Box baited: belly-up, forlorn, these caste off sinkers
line-less amble past the detritus of peaceful bygone days
when seas and lakes and ponds provided food for the soul.
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May 14, 2015 at 7:13 am |
Sure. Please give me the credit and link to my blog. I appreciate that you asked.
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May 14, 2015 at 8:00 am
I will put your name under the art. The site which is a Poetry Learning site may not let the blog link through but I will try! Did you like the verse? I feel like doing more to go with your art!
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May 14, 2015 at 8:05 am
I love the verse, and envy all poets! Thank you for finding me. I would love to read more of you, and sure, I would relish reading creative verse inspired by what I paint. I love to blog, but feel my own writing is too prosaic.
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May 14, 2015 at 8:09 am |
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/the_mirage_672896
Here’s the link to the verse. All my verses are under my name. I will be back later to write more & enjoy your blog so many great memories of Dad & Gramps.
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