OTN
12-23-2002, 05:55 PM
An Old Man, an Amateur and a Young Boy ©
By Jim Slinsky
www.outdoortalknetwork.com (http://www.outdoortalknetwork.com)
It was early Wednesday morning and my phone rang. It was my brother. He let me know our 86-year old Uncle Joe Schultz had passed away during the night. The wake was Thursday night and the funeral was Friday morning. I opted to attend the funeral albeit in Perth Amboy, NJ. My brother suggested that after the services we fish Raritan Bay. It has been years since I fished the Jersey shore. I justified the disrespect as fate.
We met at the marina in Sewaren. I stopped my truck behind his boat to transfer my gear and accidentally crushed a beer bottle with my rear tire. Within minutes we were in the water, running 40 mph for Buoy 11A.
My brother and my wife rigged to fish the bottom for fluke. I rigged my muskie rod with a one ounce “Rattlin’ Spot” in “Smokin’ Joe” (white with a black back) and started casting from the bow. I tried the top, the middle and the bottom, but with no success. Suddenly, an enormous school of bluefish starting breaking the surface chasing “peanut bunkers.” I mean this was an astonishing school of fish. We could hear them “snapping” 75 yards away.
My brother started the engine and we idled right into the frenzied school of snapper blues. I caught at least a dozen 2-4 pounders, one right after another. The lure would hit the water and the bluefish would slam it. It was a bash. I was not using a wire leader, but noticed every fish was hanging from the tail hook of the crankbait.
The excitement was wearing off so I tried an old trick. I cast into a quiet spot in the school, but this time letting the “Rattlin’ Spot” sink. I cranked the handle twice and got a bone-jarring hit. The fight was on. I battled this fish for some time and finally had it near the boat. He was ten feet out and two feet down and we could see it was a giant striper. “Thumper” I screamed out as it ran toward the stern of the boat. Incredibly, the line just went limp. So did my ego. I reeled in the slack only to discover the first two feet of line was literally chewed to the diameter of sewing thread. Frankly, it was an amateurish mistake by someone who gets paid to fish. We kept three nice fluke and got home at midnight.
Saturday morning my wife’s niece Jennifer, her husband Ken and their young son, Zachary, arrived early AM for the weekend. Ken and Jen wanted me to teach Zachary to fish. I bought him a rod and reel combo for Christmas and Jennifer wanted me to “plant the passion” in Zachary as I did in her. Ken’s opening words were, “Good morning, Jim. By the way, you have a flat tire.” My response was, “We’ll deal with it tomorrow. Let’s go fishin.”
With minimal small talk, we went directly to the lake. I tied a 1/16 ounce white twister tail on Zack’s line for bluegills. Within minutes I spotted two largemouth lurking in the shallows, an 18” and a 16”. I immediately sent my wife for nightcrawlers, while I switched Zack to a spinnerbait. The bass wouldn’t take.
Christine was back in a flash and I set Zack up with a float and a nightcrawler. Within seconds a bass took and headed for the middle of the lake. I made Zack wait and then he set the hook. The bass was every bit of 4 pounds, tail-walking all the way in. Zack was in awe. His smiles quickly turned to tears when he lost the fish at the shoreline. I was devastated.
I baited him up and he cast out again. This time the smaller bass hit and Zack successfully landed his first fish. That bass was all he talked about all weekend.
Sunday morning I changed the flat only to find out the tire was ruined. The glass cut the sidewall. We went to downtown Jim Thorpe for ice cream and a train ride.
Soon, it was time for Ken, Jen and Zachary to leave. Zack cried his eyes out. He wanted to stay with “Uncle Jim” and go fishing. I was getting a bit choked up as they backed down the driveway with Zachary screaming to stay. His little hand sticking out the back window waving good-bye was a killer.
As they drove away I stood in the driveway alone thinking it wasn’t such a bad three days. Yes, I did lose my uncle, a giant striper and a $125 tire. But, I did teach a young boy to fish. Yes, I did “plant the passion” in a future sportsman.
No, it wasn’t a bad three days at all.
"The sportsman lives his life vicariously. For he secretly yearns to have lived before, in a simpler time. A time when his love for the land, water, fish and wildlife would be more than just part of his life. It would be his state of mind." Author, Jim Slinsky
By Jim Slinsky
www.outdoortalknetwork.com (http://www.outdoortalknetwork.com)
It was early Wednesday morning and my phone rang. It was my brother. He let me know our 86-year old Uncle Joe Schultz had passed away during the night. The wake was Thursday night and the funeral was Friday morning. I opted to attend the funeral albeit in Perth Amboy, NJ. My brother suggested that after the services we fish Raritan Bay. It has been years since I fished the Jersey shore. I justified the disrespect as fate.
We met at the marina in Sewaren. I stopped my truck behind his boat to transfer my gear and accidentally crushed a beer bottle with my rear tire. Within minutes we were in the water, running 40 mph for Buoy 11A.
My brother and my wife rigged to fish the bottom for fluke. I rigged my muskie rod with a one ounce “Rattlin’ Spot” in “Smokin’ Joe” (white with a black back) and started casting from the bow. I tried the top, the middle and the bottom, but with no success. Suddenly, an enormous school of bluefish starting breaking the surface chasing “peanut bunkers.” I mean this was an astonishing school of fish. We could hear them “snapping” 75 yards away.
My brother started the engine and we idled right into the frenzied school of snapper blues. I caught at least a dozen 2-4 pounders, one right after another. The lure would hit the water and the bluefish would slam it. It was a bash. I was not using a wire leader, but noticed every fish was hanging from the tail hook of the crankbait.
The excitement was wearing off so I tried an old trick. I cast into a quiet spot in the school, but this time letting the “Rattlin’ Spot” sink. I cranked the handle twice and got a bone-jarring hit. The fight was on. I battled this fish for some time and finally had it near the boat. He was ten feet out and two feet down and we could see it was a giant striper. “Thumper” I screamed out as it ran toward the stern of the boat. Incredibly, the line just went limp. So did my ego. I reeled in the slack only to discover the first two feet of line was literally chewed to the diameter of sewing thread. Frankly, it was an amateurish mistake by someone who gets paid to fish. We kept three nice fluke and got home at midnight.
Saturday morning my wife’s niece Jennifer, her husband Ken and their young son, Zachary, arrived early AM for the weekend. Ken and Jen wanted me to teach Zachary to fish. I bought him a rod and reel combo for Christmas and Jennifer wanted me to “plant the passion” in Zachary as I did in her. Ken’s opening words were, “Good morning, Jim. By the way, you have a flat tire.” My response was, “We’ll deal with it tomorrow. Let’s go fishin.”
With minimal small talk, we went directly to the lake. I tied a 1/16 ounce white twister tail on Zack’s line for bluegills. Within minutes I spotted two largemouth lurking in the shallows, an 18” and a 16”. I immediately sent my wife for nightcrawlers, while I switched Zack to a spinnerbait. The bass wouldn’t take.
Christine was back in a flash and I set Zack up with a float and a nightcrawler. Within seconds a bass took and headed for the middle of the lake. I made Zack wait and then he set the hook. The bass was every bit of 4 pounds, tail-walking all the way in. Zack was in awe. His smiles quickly turned to tears when he lost the fish at the shoreline. I was devastated.
I baited him up and he cast out again. This time the smaller bass hit and Zack successfully landed his first fish. That bass was all he talked about all weekend.
Sunday morning I changed the flat only to find out the tire was ruined. The glass cut the sidewall. We went to downtown Jim Thorpe for ice cream and a train ride.
Soon, it was time for Ken, Jen and Zachary to leave. Zack cried his eyes out. He wanted to stay with “Uncle Jim” and go fishing. I was getting a bit choked up as they backed down the driveway with Zachary screaming to stay. His little hand sticking out the back window waving good-bye was a killer.
As they drove away I stood in the driveway alone thinking it wasn’t such a bad three days. Yes, I did lose my uncle, a giant striper and a $125 tire. But, I did teach a young boy to fish. Yes, I did “plant the passion” in a future sportsman.
No, it wasn’t a bad three days at all.
"The sportsman lives his life vicariously. For he secretly yearns to have lived before, in a simpler time. A time when his love for the land, water, fish and wildlife would be more than just part of his life. It would be his state of mind." Author, Jim Slinsky