Читать книгу Reeling In Time with Fish Tales - Brian E. Smith - Страница 7

I’ve been fishing since as far back as my memory allows. Beyond memory, there are yellowed photos of me holding a stick with a string attached beside some forgotten creek. I was at Uncle Tom’s fish camp Burgoo Hollow, West Virginia, with my mom and family, while Dad was serving the Army, in Korea. Uncle Tom tainted me with fishing from my start. I wouldn’t deny it, because indoctrinated in the ways, means, and joys of fishing was what being with Tom Redman was all about. At my early age, I was vulnerable; he imprinted my life.

Uncle Tom fished for trout, catfish, or any other fish that swam through West Virginia, with the passion that any woman would love to receive a fraction of from her husband. The kiss and tell fish stories he told were better than the fishing trips themselves. Uncle Tom had the gift of story, lightly seasoned with concoction strongly spoken in hillbilly. He illustrated on the kitchen table with whatever coffee cup, salt and pepper shaker, pack of smokes, lighter, teaspoon/fork/knife, bowl, or plate, ashtray, pocketknife or piece of food fallen off a plate; he needed to make the trout stream run through Aunt Clara’s kitchen. I’ve listened to most of his stories more than once, but each time, I thought, if I lifted up the coffee cup, a trout would flounce on the table. He could resurrect a fish from long ago. He made it so fresh you could not only smell its odor on your hands but also the earthy aroma of moss on the rocks and the organic bouquet of fallen leaves on the autumn bank. You could hear the rush of water tumble over rocks (salt and pepper shakers) with the seasonal chill that made your feet cold at the table. When Uncle Tom passed, a lifetime of stories was buried in an insufficient fishing hole.

My father took me fishing as I grew up in Virginia Beach, Virginia. He realized I was tainted from Uncle Tom, he understood I enjoyed fishing more than I enjoyed anything else. He liked wetting a line as well and saw fishing as an opportunity to spend time together; memorable moments with his only child. Dad understood the importance of one-on-one time well ahead of the coined term quality time. His graveyard shift at the Postal Service made early morning fishing trips a sacrifice on his part…, more than I realized at the time. Now, I know how valuable his time was for us; our time spent on watery banks remains my fondest memories growing up.

Likewise, reminiscences of fishing with family, and friends as close as family, are recollections I treasure, though the fish we caught are mostly forgotten. Time on the water was indeed special, a brief period of one’s years etched in each mind for a lifetime.

This first volume includes a collection of stories that progress through my life, starting as a young boy with Dad. I age through each chapter. The conclusion is when I start fishing professionally. Lightly salted with real life humor and heavily seasoned with reality. I write in hope that you, the reader, can identify with me at that particular time in life. Loosely hidden in each chapter are learning tidbits about fishing, some are actual techniques, others are simple thoughts; both are inserted to help you enjoy the sport of fishing more.

Uncle Tom naturally spoke so well that listening brought vivid life back to long ago people or fish, as well as, an account of his living history. Words are more important than we realize: words of praise from a parent, kind words said by a friend, tender words from a lover, perhaps a sermon in due time. Additionally, who hasn’t been touched by lyrics from a special song? I hope the words I chose for these stories bring you fond memories and, perhaps, challenge you to make your own stories with those you care for. Enjoy the read.

Capt. B