My dad was an avid sport fisherman. And by the end of this story you’ll know just how “avid” he was.
Every summer for several years my parents would load my sister and me up in the car, dad would lift his heavy outboard motor into the trunk, suitcases were then nestled around the motor, and we’d head to Lake Nelson near Hayward, Wisconsin for a week.
Each morning Dad woke up before dawn and headed out in the rented boat to fish. Then he returned for breakfast, after which all four of us piled into the boat and headed out for a fishing expedition.
Although the lake was pretty much fished out toward the end of the years we visited, while the fishing was still good we pulled up scores of bluegill, crappie, walleye, bass, and perch. On rare occasions a much sought-after northern pike was hooked, but I don’t recall any of us landing one.
After the morning fishing we’d head into lunch for a while then back out to the lake again for the afternoon. Then back to the cabin for a fish dinner. Then back out again on the boat and into a small, shallow inlet to cast for largemouth bass. If you snagged a big ol’ bass it was the most exciting part of the day’s fishing. Those evening forays were when I learned to cast a lure into “just the right spot.” For me, casting was like a target game. And I got pretty good at it.
Once the evening’s fishing was completed as the final rays of the sun nestled into the western horizon, we’d head back. After dropping my mom and sister off at the cabin, Dad and I would stop off at the fish house to clean the day’s catch. This was one of my most enjoyable times of the day. The place reeked of rotting fish, but breathing in the putrid aroma was a small price to pay for what I saw as the best part of fishing – getting to see the insides of a fish, especially to find out what each fish had to eat earlier that day. The most fun culinary surprise was the time when a live crawdad was set free by my dad’s knife. That was cool.
Afternoons on the lake were especially hot and boring particularly when the fish were showing no interest in our bait. I’m not sure what my sister did to keep herself sane, but I’d bring along distractions I’d picked up at the tourist souvenir stores. A magnifying glass for capturing and focusing the blistering afternoon sun’s rays onto bits of paper or the wooden boat seat, and messing around with some magic tricks all kept me occupied between fish bites. But the most entertainment any of us got was when Mom accidentally dropped dozens of caught fish overboard.
That day had been a particularly successful fishing expedition. The large basket brimming with our day’s catch hung from the side of the boat to keep the hapless fish alive. When the entire afternoon’s catch dropped into the murky depths of Lake Nelson it seemed that time stood still. There were likely more than a few foul words uttered by Dad—definitely not Mom who never cussed. But what he did next was far more shocking than if Mom had cussed.
Dad immediately stripped down to his underwear and jumped overboard—much to our horror—in search of the lost treasure. Mom, I’m sure, wondered how she was going to raise two small children with no husband. I don’t know what my sister was thinking, but for me this was far more entertaining than a magnifying glass and magic tricks. In fact, if Dad did finally emerge from the depths that would have been the best magic trick ever.
He did finally emerge. But without the fish basket. I don’t recall what my mom said. She was probably too busy praying as Dad climbed back into our small boat, nearly capsizing all of us into the lake.
There were several other fishing boats nearby, and I’ll bet those fishermen had a heck of a fish story to tell their buddies around the bar that night. Probably even more unbelievable than any fish story they had told before.
Unfortunately, none of us had a camera on board to capture the event. But the sight of my dad emerging from the depths of Lake Nelson with no fish to show for his life-risking effort will forever be imprinted into the vacation photo album of my memory. And in my book the lost basket of fish was a small price to pay for a great fish story.
Rod Robison is an Arizona based mentalist, magician, author, and speaker. More about Rod Robison’s magic and mentalism shows, inspirational seminars, and sales training at www.ArizonaMentalist.com
