SEPTEMBER 8, 2020 – Recently, while sitting on the dock, my wife and I watched a lone fisherman out a ways haul in a catch. “Hard to tell,” I said, “if it’s a bass or a walleye; it’s definitely not a northern or a muskie.”
“O-o-h-h,” my wife scoffed. “You don’t know the first thing about fishing,” she said. I took slight offense. I grew up in the Land of 10,000 Lakes and spent time every summer in the state next door—the one of about 8,000 lakes. My wife grew up in Illinois, surrounded by prairies.
“Not true! I used to fish all the time!” I protested.
“‘All the time’?” she chided. “You’re lying.” Her doubt was understandable. She’d never seen me hold a fishing rod except to untangle lines for our sons when they were little kids fishing with “Donald Duck” poles off the end of the dock.
In truth, when I was a kid I was around lots of fishing. Our family by the Mississippi River, and the summer I turned nine, I hung out along the river and watched the bigger kids fish. I became well acquainted with their gear and catch. The kids who really knew what they were doing, I noticed, owned Shakespeare-brand reels. The quasi-professionals among them had Zebco equipment.
I was captivated by the whole scene—the tackle boxes that opened with sliding shelves containing multiple compartments, each holding a lure or bunch of hooks, and the bottom filled with tools, bobbers, stringers, and leaders. I watched with fascination as the “experts” cast their baited lures into the muddy waters, then slowly reeled in their lines. When someone hooked a big carp or bullhead, a shout would draw us younger kids close to the landing spot, where we’d marvel at the ugly river monsters that had been caught by the proud owner of a Shakespeare . . . or Zebco.
Since Dad was not into fishing, my only access to fishing gear was the Sears Roebuck catalogue. I would’ve settled happily for Zebco over Shakespeare, but Sears offered only its proprietary brand. I zeroed in on the reel that most resembled a Zebco—closed housing and a two-handled crank. Sears seemed to push a lot of single-handle-crank reels, and I thought they looked goofy. If I wanted the respect of bigger kids down along the banks of the Mississippi, I couldn’t gain it with a cheap, single-handle-crank reel.
Well ahead of my birthday in early August I made it known to Dad that what I wanted more than anything else was a proper fishing set—rod, reel, tackle box loaded with hooks, lines, and sinkers. One evening I showed him the imitation-Zebco set in the Sears catalogue and told him that was the one that would make me “very happy.” Dad noticed out loud that it was the most expensive set, and that worried me. I didn’t want him going for one with a single-handle crank. It would defeat the whole point of getting a fishing set.
(Cont.)
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© 2020 by Eric Nilsson
