Growin’ Up

Something from the tackle box:

       When we were children, we thought and reasoned as children do.  But when we grew up, we quit our childish ways.  (1Corinthians 13:11 CEV)

       Little Joey knew he was getting to be a big-boy.  Everyone told him so.  He had a a whole year of school under his belt.  Kindergarten had been fun, but in September he would be going into the first grade proper, and that’s big-boy stuff.  He’d been told that he would even have lessons to bring home from school to work on and then turn in the next day.  He didn’t mind.  He kind of liked doing schoolwork.  Miss Munther had almost always told him he’d done a good job on just about all of his kindergarten work last year, and both mom and dad worked with him at home so that he could already read almost all of the little-boy books stacked up by his bed, all by himself.  Yep, he’d be on to some regular big-boy books and learning come September.  But, for now, it was summer, and that meant less any-sized-boy learning, and lots more just having fun and goofing off, and that was fine by Joey too. 

       Yesterday mom and dad had dropped him off at the cottage on Long Lake to spend a few days with grandpa and grandma Otis, while they took his two older brothers, aged twelve and fifteen, another day’s drive north into Canada.  There they would backpack six miles in from the end of the road and spend two days pike and walleye fishing on what dad called a real “wilderness” lake.  Joey knew he was getting to be a big-boy, but it seemed he wasn’t quite big enough to backpack into a real “wilderness” lake just yet.  That was OK.  Grandpa Otis had assured him last night that they would be catching and eating more and better fish, right out of Long Lake, than his folks and brothers would out of any old “Canuck” lake, even if they did manage to not get lost hiking through the woods to find it.  That assurance had cheered Joey up considerably as he had full confidence in just about everything that grandpa Otis had to say. 

       Joey knew it was morning now, even though it was still pretty dark, because grandpa Otis had told him so when he woke him up.  He had his fishing clothes on and was sitting at the table as grandma Otis set a scrambled egg, two strips of bacon, a slice of toast with strawberry jam, and a glass of milk in front of him.  Grandpa had twice as much food on his plate, and coffee instead of milk, but then, grandpa was way bigger than he was.  A grandma breakfast was always good, and Joey ate all of it with gusto, just like his grandpa did.  All, that is, except the top edge of the toast crust, which never felt quite right in his mouth. 

       “Well, buddy,” said grandpa Otis, “I think we’re in for a good morning of fishing.  There’s quite a bit of fog on the lake yet, but the spot I’m counting on the fish being at isn’t that far away, so we should be able to find it without any trouble.  There’s not going to be any powerboats to worry about out on the lake this early anyway.  I’ve got everything we need loaded up and ready, and all we’ve got to do is get up and at ‘em.” 

       A confident nod and the word, “Yep,” was Joey’s only big-boy response as they got up to head out. 

       The twelve-foot, square-ended, johnboat was tied so snuggly to the dock that Joey didn’t even need any help getting into it, which was as it should be for a big-boy.  He surveyed the gear his grandpa had stowed and ready to go.  Two life jackets, two seat cushions, a bait box, a fish-basket tied to some cloths-line, and two very long cane fishing poles running the length of the boat, their but ends laying on the bench seat back by the engine and their tips extending a good three feet out over the front of the boat.  It didn’t look anything like the fishing tackle his family was taking to the “wilderness” lake in Canada.  These poles didn’t even have any cranks on them to wind the fish in with. 

       “Get your life-jacket on,” said grandpa.

       Joey did, and then took the front bench seat while grandpa Otis unmoored and pushed away from the dock as he got in.  Grandpa took the stern seat and started fussing with the outboard and gas tank.  After just three pulls on the cord, the old ten-horse Johnson began to putt softly on its own.  Grandpa turned them to follow the shoreline going north, and they set off. 

       The fog was pretty thick, but Joey had been on a good number of boat rides around the lake in his six years of visiting the cottage, and he knew right where they were as they rounded the edge of Delmar’s cove, passed the long row of docks, crossed the mouth of Old Doc’s cove, and then turned right to cross the lake to where he could just make out the tops of the tall pines through the fog that were guiding them to Gazebo Point. 

       “This is where we have to really watch out for other fishermen who might be out in this pea-soup to fish this morning too,” were the first words spoken in the boat since they’d shoved off ten minutes ago.  “The only other person I’ve ever seen fish this spot were going to is the young man who lives next door to our place, and he always fishes out of a canoe, so we sure don’t want to bump into him by accident.  That’s why I’m going so slow.”

       When they had gotten close enough to the other shore that Joey could just make out the structure that gave Gazebo point its name, through the fog, grandpa shut the outboard down and they began to drift.

       “Turn around Joey.  See that red lever on the top edge of the boat, right up at the front?”

       “Yep.”

       “Well, see if you can lift it so that it’s pointing straight up.  That will let the anchor go down.  But keep away from that winch crank when you do it, or the handle might hit you in the leg as it goes around and lets the anchor rope run out.”

       “Got it, grandpa,” said Joey, as he followed his grandpa’s instructions.  He was surprised how fast that crank handle did go around as the anchor took rope off the spool on its dive.  His grandpa was pretty smart.  That thing could hurt ya if you weren’t paying attention!

       “Now that the anchor is down, push that red handle back down flat with the edge of the boat.  That will keep more rope from running out and letting us drift away from this spot. 

       “Got it, grandpa.”  And he did. 

       “Okay, Joey.  I’m going to unwind the line from this pole and hand you the hook end.  I want you to put your own worm on, just like I taught you last time when we fished off the dock.  Once you get it on, toss it over the side and I’ll hand you the pole.  The bobber is already set so that you’ll be fishing about seven feet deep, which is about where I think the fish will be.  Once you’re fishing I’ll get my rig set up and fish a three or four feet deeper than you, right near the bottom, in case I’m wrong about where I think they’re at.” 

       “Got it, grandpa,” said Joey again, as he took the hook end of the line in hand, very carefully got an angle worm out of the bait box and threaded it on the barbed hook as well a big-boy six year old fisherman could be expected to do.  He took the pole from grandpa and rested it on the edge of the boat.  He watched his bobber drift out towards the end of his rod, ten feet or more away from the boat, and waited for some action.  Grandpa didn’t use a bobber, but lowered his weighted line all the way to the bottom of the lake, until his line went slack, then drew the tip of his rod up, a foot or so, until his line was tight again. 

       “The way I’m fishing is called, Jigging,” said grandpa.  “I’ll know I’ve got a fish checking out my bait by feeling the taps that will come through the line and rod.  If one grabs on and pulls I’ll be able to feel that too, and I’ll pull him up out of the water and see if he’s big enough to keep.  You’re bobber fishing, just like you did off the dock last time you were up.  Remember to keep your eye on your bobber.  You have to see when you’ve got a fish checking out your bait when your bobber starts dancing.  If it goes under he’s taken it, and you can lift him out.” 

       Joey watched his bobber intently and, sure enough, in just a few seconds it started to wiggle and jiggle on the surface.

       “You’ve got one playing with your bait, Joey.  Wait for your bobber to dive under before you pull up on him, or you’ll miss him.”

       Joey waited, and then his jiggling bobber just plain disappeared from sight in an instant.  Joey hadn’t thought it would happen quite so suddenly, and he didn’t react until his grandpa shouted, “PULL UP,” and then he did!  He could feel the fish darting and tugging around and around as he lifted his pole high in the air over his head.  Finally the fish broke the surface of the water.  By lifting his pole as high over his head as he could he got the fish over the side and into the boat, where his grandpa grabbed it before it even hit the hull. 

       “Well, look at that!  You got the first fish, and it’s as nice a perch as I’ve seen this whole summer.  Looks to be about a foot long to me.  That will make your grandma happy.  We always let grandma eat the perch we catch.  She likes them so much better than the sunfish and bluegills I usually catch.  Now, personally, I   can’t taste any difference, but it always makes her smile when we allow her to take any perch on the platter.”

       Joey marveled at the golden sheen interspersed between the dark green bands that colored the fish’s sides as grandpa placed the beautiful perch into the fish basket that he dropped over the side of the boat after tying its rope to the oarlock.  Joey could look over the side and watch the fish swimming around in the basket just a foot below the surface.  It was magical, and the thought of making grandma smile with his perch pleased Joey.  He would eat bluegills like his grandpa, if that was what they were going to be catching. 

       They did catch a good many fish that morning, seventeen in all between the two of them, with grandpa judging eleven of them as big enough to go in the basket to swim in captivity beside the boat.  With one of the smaller sunfish that was pulled in grandpa taught Joey how to grasp the newly caught fish by combing its dorsal fins back, so that they didn’t stick you, as you held on to him and removed the hook.  Joey watched and tried it himself, and only got poked a little bit on his smallest finger as he held the fish and tossed it over the side to swim away. 

       Grandpa also had Joey remove the hooks from some of the lip hooked fish that were brought in, but handled all the deeply hooked fish himself.  Joey was just as happy to have it that way, as he saw a bit of blood appear on grandpa’s fingers with a couple of the fish that needed the use of a tool to get the hooks out.  He wasn’t really sure if the blood belonged to the fish, or grandpa.  Either way, he was OK with letting grandpa handle that fishing chore this time out. 

       The last fish Joey caught was their second perch.  While not quite as big as that first fish, it was judged as “pan worthy” by grandpa, and into the basket it went.  The sun was now well up in a blue sky, the fog was all gone, and the morning daylight was bright.

       Grandpa smiled and said, “Well, partner, I think we’ve got more than enough for a feast,” as he hauled the basket up out of the water and set it in the bottom of the boat.  Joey marveled at the beauty of the fish that were all flopping around together in a mess of glimmering wet colors.  “Let’s go in and you can help me get these cleaned up for grandma to cook for our lunch.  If we let grandma have the two perch, I’ll eat the two smallest sunfish, and that leaves the seven biggest ones for you!” 

       “Oh, grandpa!” laughed Joey, who could always tell when his grandpa Otis was joshing with him. 

       Joey kept right on smiling as grandpa fired up the Johnson and headed them across the lake, at an angle straight towards the Otis cottage and a grandma waiting to cook fish for them.  They went much faster than when they had come out in the fog and grandpa made a couple of pointless hard turns just to make Joey laugh and hold on to his seat.  It was as good a morning as Joey could recall ever having, and grandpa was rating it pretty high on his list too. 

       Pulling up to the dock, grandpa shut the outboard down and secured the boat before letting Joey take of his lifejacket and climb out.  Grandpa lifted the fish-basket onto the dock before getting out himself.  Joey noticed that the fish were not flopping around quite as vigorously as they had when grandpa had first put them into the boat, their colors were not quite as bright and shinny as they had been either. 

       “Why don’t you go in and use the bathroom first.  I’ll carry this mess over to the cleaning station before I take my turn.  They need to settle down a little bit more before we start dressing them out for grandma to cook anyway.”

       Joey ran into the house, he really did need to go pretty badly, but stopped on the way long enough to inform grandma that they had caught lots of fish, and that he had caught two perch for her to eat.  He could hear grandma chuckling about that as he dashed on into the bathroom. 

       After grandpa had followed him in using the facilities, and taken a good deal more time than he had in doing so, Joey followed him out to the cleaning station, a short walk back into the woods from the cottage.  The fish were already lined up on the edge of the cutting board, where grandpa had laid them out, not moving at all any more.  Grandpa had Joey stand on an overturned crate, so he could watch as grandpa began working on the fish.  He started with the big perch, the first fish Joey had caught.

       “First, we have to take off the scales,” said grandpa, as he began vigorously rubbing a funny looking tool over the side of the fish, scraping away all the color that was left, as Joey watched.

       “It’s not nearly as pretty as it used to be,” Joey commented.

       “That’s true.  But the scales won’t taste any good if we’ve left them on when grandma cooks them.  So, off they come, pretty or not.”  Grandpa continued, “Next we have to cut off the head and fins.” 

       This announcement was followed by a few quick knife strokes that accomplished just what grandpa had declared as being needed.  Joey felt a little queasy at the suddenness of it all happening in front of his eyes.  With a bit of a halt in his voice he asked, “Does it hurt the fish to do that?”

       “Well, the fish is already dead, so he doesn’t feel anything now.  They died when we took them out of the water for a while.  Fish breath water like we breath air.  And they drown when you keep them in the air too long, just like you would drown if you kept your head under water too long.  Remember, I told you why I always make you wear a lifejacket when we go out in the boat, - to keep your head up so you won’t drown if you fall in the lake, or the boat sinks.  Well, fish are just backwards from us in that respect.” 

       “Oh,” said Joey.  He guessed that he had known the fish grandma made to eat were from dead fish, just like chicken nuggets were from dead chickens and smoky-links were from dead pigs, but he hadn’t really thought about just how those fish had gotten to be dead, or the part that anybody like his grandpa, or he, ever played in that fact.  It all made him feel a bit like crying and, in fact, a bit of water did well up in both of his eyes, which he quickly wiped away with his sleeve so his grandpa wouldn’t see.

       “It is a hard fact to come to terms with, I’ll admit.  But don’t let it bother you too much, Joey.  Lots of critters eat other critters.  And we humans are about the only critter I know off that tries to let that other critters, that we’re eating, die comfortably before we do it.  It didn’t hurt these fish to pass out from being out of the water, and it doesn’t hurt them now when I’m getting them ready for grandma to cook.  Which, come to think of it, is maybe more than they deserve!  Just think of those poor minnows that this big fish ate just before we caught him!  They went down his throat alive!  Wiggling and squiggling all the way!”  Grandpa was joshing again, and that made Joey chuckle a little bit, even through his tears.

       Joey watched soberly as his grandpa dressed and washed all eleven fish.  He was glad that his grandpa let him help by hosing down the cutting board, and then carrying the cleaned fish in a basket back down the trail to the cottage, when it was done.  There they found that grandma was waiting for them, the table already set.  A deep-sided frying pan was heating up on a front burner, and string beans were simmering on the back of the stove.  Grandma took the fish, brushed them with some egg, rolled them in a mixture of cornmeal and cracker crumbs, and then laid them in the pan where they sizzled and snapped, cooking up to a crispy golden brown.  Out of the pan, each piece was allowed to drain for a minute before being loaded on to a platter and carried to the table where grandpa and Joey sat at their places ready to eat.  Grandma put just one fish on Joey’s plate.  He could tell that it was that big foot-long perch he had caught on his first try.

       “Don’t you want to eat the perch, grandma?” asked Joey.

       “I think I’ve got a taste for some bluegills today.  If you can eat that one, you can have the other one too,” she replied with a smile. 

       “Well, don’t that beat all….,” added grandpa, with mock astonishment, as Joey chuckled.  “So, partner, do you want to go fishing with me again tomorrow morning?”

       “Yeah, I think I do, grandpa.” 

              

Something to take home in your creel:

       Joey ate that perch, and half of the second one too.  It tasted different than any fish he’d ever eaten before.  He couldn’t really tell if it tasted any worse, or any better, than any of the fish he’d had at the cottage before that day.  It was just different.  Joey decided for himself that, in fact, it was very good fish, and he liked it a lot, - as different as it was. 

       What Joey didn’t know yet, was that everything would taste different to him from now on.  Yep.  He was getting to be a big-boy.