how i learned to fish

I’m very excited for this weekend. The Crew (and I) are going camping at a place called Brunet Island State Park. I am very excited, but overly excited for one thing in particular – FISHING. Because I wasn’t a blogging nerd from the time I was a wee toddler until about the age of 20, you missed out on a good 20 years of fishing stories. Seriously.

When I’m home over Thanksgiving, I’ll have to scan in some photos from my formative fishing years. Not only can you see how hardcore I was back in the day, but also my terrific fashion sense while aboard a boat with a motor that doesn’t go over 30 MPH.

You know who I learned most of my fishing bidness from? My grammas. Sure, my dad was there a lot, too, but you’ve never seen two harder fishing folk then my two grammas.

Man, I miss the 90s, where I’d spend every weekend possible in a mobile home that’d be converted into my grandparents’ lake home. My grandparents would take four of us between the ages of five (when they first got married) and 18 (when we got jobs and couldn’t visit as much) out on the boat nearly every day and let us fish until we started fighting, and then it was back to the trailer where we had to clean everything off the Pontoon boat and help put everything back in its exact proper spot, only to start it all over the next morning.

What’d these fine ladies do to the little kids that had no interest in fishing at all? Easy. Take a look at this picture of my cousin that was taken when she was just a couple years old back in the summer of ’98:

You get wrapped up in a raincoat from Goodwill that’s 8 sizes too big and thrown in an area on the boat where the fish aren’t bitin’. Needless to say, I never remember being the kid swaddled up in used clothing and having the risk of being hit by a thrown towel that’s just been used to wipe up fish slime.

Think that just because you’re three that means you’re too young to learn this whole fishing business? Not so fast, champ. Just because Grandma’s wearing a ski belt and sinks fast than a rock doesn’t mean you’re not going to be her grandson and not at least try to touch a live fish before you’re completely potty-trained.


And what’s a little rain when it comes to being out on the boat in the middle of Truman Lake making a noble attempt to catch your daily limit of 15 crappie? Nothing at all, if you’re one of my grandmas.


Little do you know that beneath her attractively orange poncho, she’s wearing support hose under shorts and probably some type of dress shoes. My grandma, despite the fact that she was the one that would clean the fish after we’d caught them, was a very prim and genteel woman! And were she still alive, she’d beat me with a stick if she found out I was posting these pictures online. Luckily, the weather’s supposed to be fairly decent for the last part of September.

Two more pictures before ending this post, because they’re two of my absolute favorite pictures, and it makes me sad that they were taken on a Sony Mavica camera, which had the highest resolution in the world of 640×480.



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