My First Fishing Lesson

My first and best fishing lesson came about the summer of my tenth birthday.  I grew up a few blocks from the Hennepin Canal in northwestern Illinois.  It was a failed commercial relic, but a favorite of men who liked to fish, and boys who found the sluggish water and overgrown banks an ideal summer hideout.

Mother declared the "canal" as it was known, off limits, which only added to its attraction.  Many a boy learned to fish there under the supervision of their father.

I had no father, no fishing equipment, and no knowledge of how to go about catching a fish.  But, I watched.  For the first few years of my life I watched.  Then, the summer I was to turn ten, I decided that it was time to act.

Withholding details, I asked my mother if she could buy for me a fishing pole.  She was sympathetic, but even before she answered I knew that our welfare check (ADC for those who know), could not support the expense.

But, I had been watching, and decided it was time to act on a backup plan.  During the dewy hours of the next morning, I slipped way to the canal, and to my delight my  plan was still intact. The broken fishing rod that had been discarded the day before remained  where I had last spied it.  So, I went to work.

First, I cleaned up the pole part of the broken fishing rod.  Next, I pulled tangled line with bobbers, split shot, and hooks from the surrounding bushes.  I tied the line with the a bobber and a hook to the end of the pole.  I lifted rocks to find earthworms.  I baited the hook.  I swung the bobber away from the bank, dipped it into the water, and waited.

Waited?  No time to wait!  Instantly the bobber disappeared, and I jerked the pole so hard that the little but fat bluegill went sailing into the air.  I hollered, jumped, hollered some more, jumped some more, and after repeating the entire process countless times the grass around my feet was peppered with dozens of the most beautiful panfish that ever did a human eye behold!

With dozens of gasping and flipping panfish under my feet, I realized I had no way of getting them home.  So, I did the first thing that came to mind.  I raced home, grabbled the only sizable container we had, and raced back to the canal praying, and praying that no one would steal my fishing rod and fish.

To my everlasting delight everything was as I had left it.  I filled the container which happened to be a #3 washtub that my mother used for washing just about everything (including me and my older brother), and by the handle started dragging it home.

On the way it hit me that I was going to have to confess that I had been at the canal, but my hope was that I might be forgiven by reason of the prize I was bringing, and so it was!  In one of my mother's rare moments of maternal leniency she was taken up by the same joy that had overcome her earrent boy.

I had not known it, but fried bluegills happened to be one of my mother's favorite foods, and that surely contributed to her uncharacteristic spirit of forgiveness without the requirement of obligatory penance.   Did we eat them?  Oh, did we!  And there began my lifelong love of the fishing for, and the eating of all species of panfish.

Now, you may not think that a powerful life-lesson might emerge from my first fishing lesson, but it did.

In the Wisdom Literature of the Old Testament we read "Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might" (Ecclesiastes 9:10a).  Notice "your hand find to do."  Not someone else's hand, but your hand.  Others are busy with their own hand.  

It is an error to expect that someone should hand us a new fishing rod, and teach us how to fish if before our own hand there is the the stuff with which to make it happen.  

Sure, it is a wonderful thing when someone takes us in tow, and teaches us; but if we expect it as if it were owed to us (an entitlement), we expect too much.  If we watch, plan, and then act on what is already within reach of our own hand, there are few limits on what we can accomplish.

Besides, I can tell you from experience, that the best fish you will ever eat are the ones you caught, carried home, and fried in your own pan.  I am sure your mother will agree!