Cops: 0; Me, 1

We got our colorful eastern Missouri autumn, beyond our wildest dreams, and today was its most gorgeous day. So I lunched in a little county park along the Big River, where I have a secret spot for fishing, and was at a picnic table being enriched by the view when up behind me comes a sheriff's deputy, a very handsome one, all in brown (I love a man in uniform) and surprises me when he says, "Maybe you didn't take the time to read the signs at the park entrance when you came in, but glass bottles aren't allowed in the park."

"Oh, I'm sorry," I said. I had half my sandwich and  two-thirds of a bottle of orange juice left. I picked up the bottle to surrender it.

"It's not glass, it's plastic!" I said.

"Sure looks like glass."

"It's plastic. Here, squeeze it," I said to the deputy. He hesitated but he did it.

He said, "Lotta people don't take the time to read the signs at the park entrance that glass bottles aren't allowed in the park." And he turned his attention to the folks on the sandbar, fishing, saying, "Wonder what they're catchin' today."

He wandered off to sit in his patrol car, and after lunch I took a little walk to see if my secret, small and narrow fishing spot down the bank was still there. It was.

Men Taught Me

Men from my daddy on down took me fishing, but I was 45 when I got my first fishing rod and a man taught me terminal tackle, and a year older when I first baited a hook with a live worm not feeling sorry for it. Thrusting the hook through minnows' eyes took another year. I enjoyed fishing on my own, but always feared hooking one because I couldn't face grabbing it and prying the hook out to set it loose; but no problem there, because I didn't land a fish until I was 51, and coached by a man. (The old folks sitting on the park bench behind us cheered as I reeled in the six-inch catfish, so rainbow-beautiful I cried "Let it go!") After that, fishing alone, I caught-and-released and hoped not to catch a keeper because there was no way I could behead it and rip out its guts.

Thrilled to pisces!

Proudly I report that this year I have conquered my girly squeamishness on all counts and am a good angler, man-dependent no more. I can cast. I know which hook and line is best for catching which fish, and can wait until it tugs on the line not once but twice, and catch more than one fish per day. Live fish get unhooked and thrown in the cooler without a single tear running down my face. Yes, I did have a friend with me to (the final frontier) clean and fillet my first mess o' panfish, the bluegills and one small ??? in the photo. But now I think I could cut off their heads by myself. If I had to. If I were hungry.

Thanks, Daddy, Demetrius, Qiu, David, Ken and Jim for helping me unlearn my crippling girlyness and start up a new skill set. (I have no brothers; that might have changed things.) I love fishing. But I don't think I could ever go hunting.

Favorite Fishing Access

Six a.m. found me on the Big River at Byrnes Mill, Mo. (pop. 1339). What remained of the original mill was destroyed by the floods of ‘08. At what was my secret favorite fishing access there’s a new parking lot and picnic area. Catfishers reel ‘em in if they can get to the river’s cliff side.

From my muddy sandbar I caught a dozen bluegill, & let ‘em all go; here’s a pic of my best catch: Note the “blue gill” (duh). Hook, bait, place, and time made for ideal fishin. I’d be honored if next time you’d come with. Yeah, the rod is pink. The name engraved on my tackle box is “Bun Bun.” Deal with it.

What's Biting Today?

I fished today. At the local Shell I asked where I could buy bait. “You’re in the right place,” said the clerk, and sold me 2 dozen night crawlers $2.99/dozen. “I hope you catch a load,” she said, “and I don’t mean coal.”

So I get to the Big River (that's its name), dazzled & stupefied with the joy of first-fishing-of-the-year. About 60% of the time spent untangling, retying, cussing, getting hook out of bushes, etc. Thunder in the distance. An angler across the river caught a catfish. I want one. I won’t leave. Finally, God lets my old folding chair’s nylon seat rip in half, suddenly dumping my ass full-force on wet sand. I only hoped nobody saw this, because I bet it looked hilarious. Took this as a divine signal to go home.

The True Meaning of Summer

Fishin rods waitin' on my porch, bought last summer by David. Pink for me, blue for him. He's that kind of guy. They're waiting for a good fishing day and for David. I re-did the terminal tackle on all of em using a knot he taught me. Yes, I bait my own hooks, with minnows too.

Man Kisses Bass

Out fishin' on a spit of land stuck into a lake in St. Charles County, and catching nothing, I saw a single fisherman, a stranger, in a johnboat coming toward us. He drew up and asked in his nice rusty-sounding Missourah accent, would I take a picture of him and the bass he'd just caught. He had a disposable camera...

He was an old, thin man wearing a shirt printed with colorful fishing flies. Could have been my dad, if dad had lived and got skinny; or, your dad, left alone on his own; sometimes strangers are angels in disguise. I said yes, of course, and pulled his bow up onto the gravel a bit, and grabbed the camera offen him. And from the water he ups a beautiful, heavy, live largemouth bass about half as long as I am tall. And he wanted me to take a photo of him kissing it.

So he kissed it and I did. He wanted to talk; he was lonely. I recognize that right away in a person, and tolerate it as long as I can. He offered us the fish to take home. I said no. He said, well, you put it back in the water, then, and handed it over. Now I had never before held such a big fish. I could look right down the fish's throat and see all the way into it -- its needly white bones and ribs. I held it by its tough wet lip. The poor thing flapped -- the air was burning it. Awestruck I hesitated and the man said, bringing me around, "Turn 'im back into the water." So I did. Off it went, with an amazing story to tell to its friends and family. Off went somebody's lonely dad. And I had felt the real weight of real life.

I Learn to Fish

Got the urge to buy the $12 Missouri license and go fishin'. Came on suddenly. Haven't fished for years and was never very knowledgeable about it.

Yesterday David took me fishin and I brought my two rods: a bamboo fishing pole and a beautiful lightweight fly rod with an open reel. I was tryin with the fly rod, but he said neither of my rods was right for the pond fishin we were doin. Esp. if were were going to catch the bass that was teasin us by jumpin up and down in the reeds.

So David and I went right down and he bought us a both rod & reel, plus tackle and fattest night crawlers in Jefferson County. Went back to the pond. He showed me how to use the reel, which kind of split shot to use as weight, how to cast the line overhand, what knots he uses, how the floater is attached, how to reel it in. On his first cast he caught a bass perhaps 1.5 - 2 lbs. It was a keeper but he used the pliers to pull the hook from its throat, and let it go.

They say you learn something new every day. Well now I'm thrilled to report I know something about fishin'. From newbie to novice in one day. This means anyone can do it. Get you a Missouri fishing license and have fun.