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Nice
I just came cross this: It makes me wonder what my kids or grandkids will think when they come across the bamboo fly rod my Dad got for me...he didn't even know what fly fishing was but he thought I should learn.....
Spare The Rod
by Mike Wilhelm
When I was in my twenties, my Aunt Geneva gave me a fly rod. It had belonged to her husband, my Uncle Raymond, before he passed away. I have no idea how old it was or how long he had owned it. The case was well worn and was coming apart at the seams. The cloth sock containing the rod was dry rotting. Some of the thread wrapping on the rod was unraveling. The cork handle was dark stained and worn. There was no reel. I thanked her, took it home and put it in a closet for a while before eventually deciding it was of no value and disposing of it. At that time, I was a bait casting, lure chunker having no knowledge of or appreciation for fly fishing. (Ignorance is my only excuse)
Actually, I have fond memories of times spent with Uncle Raymond who was an avid fisherman and outdoorsman. In my childhood years, he had taken me fishing several times. Those were great times and we had a lot of fun. He had no children of his own so he took me under wing, a most difficult challenge. One thing you have to know is Uncle Raymond loved to drink beer almost as much as he loved to fish. Bream, bass and crappie were his prey and the more he drank, the more fish he caught. He was very good at it. I marveled at how he eased his line into the most difficult places. The brush piles and logjams (which looked impenetrable) produced hand-sized bullhead bream and slab black crappie (which I still admire as a most beautiful fish). Of course, Uncle Raymond accomplished this with a fishing pole in one hand, a sculling paddle in the other and a Falstaff between his knees. The cooler at his feet served the dual purpose of holding the fish we caught and keeping his beer cold.
After a reasonable number of fish were caught and a sufficient amount of beer consumed (by him, not me), we would return to his house to clean the fish and prepare for the feast to come. After chastising Uncle Raymond for drinking too much, my aunt would cook the fish for supper. She had done this many times in a big cast iron pot reserved just for this purpose. The fish, hushpuppies and fixin's were delicious though my arteries clog up at just the thought of the lard used to fry them up. It was a fine reward for a good day on the lake. (And a fine memory)
So after all these years, I began thinking about that fly rod. My uncle was a man of modest means so the rod likely had little monetary value. It was likely a cheap rod he picked up somewhere along the way. Since there was no reel, he probably never actually fly fished. In fact, he may have used it like a crappie pole. Nonetheless, I wish now I had kept it. I could have had it refinished or just put on the wall as a remembrance. I could have passed it on to my son, daughter or grandchildren. In any event, it would have been nice to hold, reminisce and admire while holding a cold beer between my knees.
How many of us look back longingly at items we have scorned in the past? Seems a shame now, doesn't it? Maybe the lesson learned will help someone else in the future. A real treasure doesn't have to be gold or jewels to be of great value. Personal value is assessed in the heart.
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Great post! After my parents got divorced my mom dated a man that was a W.W.II vet. We didn't have much money and I had a beat up spinning rig with hooks to fish the lake we lived next to. One day I came home from school and there, in the dining room, were several rods, reels and a tackle box full of tackle. The gear was old but in great condition. Wayne couldn't stand to see me going without fishing gear.
Even though things didn't work out between Wayne and mom we remained friends through out my teenage years. I cried and cried the day Wayne passed away. Though Wayne and the rods are long gone now, I still have the tackle box and lures that he bought during his youth in the 1930's. Some of those lures fetch a handsome price today but I could never sell them. They remind me of the kind man that taught a distressed youngster the joys of fishing, hunting and love of life.
Sorry, didn't mean to high jack your post, you just got me to reminiscing.
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Hey,
Some of these posts(like thw two above) deserve a bit more highlighted spot on these BB's. Think about it. You're great writers and it's easy to write about memories. They just roll out of your pen even over teardrops on the paper.
Mark
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Ducksterman .... I cringe at tossing things out of ..... reminiscing value. My dad's been passed for 13+ yrs, grandparent now all passed as well. A wise person once said - don't cry for their passing, be happy for the time you had and remember. And these tidbits I keep help do just that.
I don't have much of physical items - my 1st rod my dad bought me - 31-ish yrs back. Sleigh bells from one of my grandfathers. Other than that - its pic of moms parents holding me as an infant. My dads parent pic taken shortly before he passed. All which open the memory flood gates (and then nothing gets done).
What will our kids do ..... I don't know. Can't say that I don't care - more so, hope they learn faster that I did. In the mean time ...... I got to go turn some bottoms as there's yabbling in the room where there ain't supposed to be ........
darrell,
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I am the family pack rat! and it is a distinction that I wear with honor. While others are fighting over the antique dishes, saving bonds and such, I am the one quietly taking those things that mean nothing to anyone other than me and the person that kept them for years before their passing. Although most of the items are of little value, they obviously meant something or they would not have been kept for so long -- I just couldn't stand to think of such "treasures" going to a junk shop. So, I have a large collection of my grandpas chauffer's licenses (from the 30's and 40's) the old metal Social security cards, pocket watches, trophies from WWII and lots and lots of letters and photographs. All of these little things helps me feel more connected to my own personal history.