In Appreciation of Fishing Widows Everywhere

Yes, I'm talking about those of you who spend countless long days and, sometimes, whole weekends alone, untangling fishing line from inside the vacuum-cleaner hose and/or navigating the obstacle course of treble hooks, lures and other paraphernalia. This story indeed is for you--a well-deserved "Thank You!" for putting up with and trying to understand the fishermen in your individual lives.

As one fishing widow wrote, "I've spent the last 25 years or so, racking my brain, trying to comprehend the passion--no, make that obsession--my husband and his friends have for fishing.

"It seems completely foreign to me why, instead of spending a few more precious hours in a warm, cozy bed on Saturday morning, a man will subject himself to a 3 a.m. wakeup call. He then proceeds to pile on layers of zipoff pants, sweatshirts, windbreakers, fishing vests, and, of course, tacky hats.

"Next, he schleps tons of equipment to his pickup and may drive for hours to spend the day waiting for a tug on the line (one that may never come) and/or waiting to realize the myth of landing a record-breaking fish.

"In simple terms, I do not understand the thrill of sleep deprivation, layers of drab-colored clothing, and the physical exertion required just to wait for a fish--maybe--to show up.

"Whether or not I intended to become associated with the sport of fishing is inconsequential. It seems that, when you marry an avid fisherman, you also marry his sport. Just to be clear here, I want to state for the record that I consider fish on the same plane as in-laws.

"It is mind-boggling that I'm considered a lover of everything fishing, just by association. People somehow assume I enjoy receiving gifts that are 'fishing' themed, merely because my husband is so passionate about the sport. As a result, I'm the proud owner of such things as fishing oven mitts, fishing place mats, fishing plates, fishing sculptures, fishing T-shirts...even a fishing-themed thong.

"As the role model for a fishing spouse, my duties are not limited to gracefully accepting these cheesy gifts. I also have attempted, on many occasions, to share in my husband's favorite pastime. However, I never have experienced that certain rush of adrenaline when hooking into a hard-charging fish. My only memories are of getting hooked and tangled in the many trees along the shoreline...oh, and once snagging my husband's ear. It also was my misfortune to have reeled in everything from reeds, to seaweed, to moldy sandwiches and decaying dead birds.

"I further have memories of being attacked by a swarm of mosquitoes and having to squat in a filthy port-a-potty.

"My history of enduring and surviving 'fishing hell' dates back many years. One of my earliest experiences occurred on our honeymoon. As a naive newlywed, I wanted to share in my darling love's fishing passion.

"If you are old enough to remember Gilligan and the crew of the ill-fated SS Minnow battling the waves of the dreaded storm that landed them on the deserted island, you have some clue to the misadventure otherwise known as my honeymoon fishing escapade.

"Imagine, if you will, a small fishing boat, 16-foot-high waves off the coast of Martinique, and an innocent, young, newly married, and slightly stupid girl seasick and vomiting on the captain. Afterward, my husband has to give up his prize catch--a barracuda--as compensation for his wife's unfortunate mess.

"I should have considered that $600 mishap as an omen, a sign, a precursor to all future fishing attempts. Suffice it to say none have proven successful.

"Accordingly, I long ago decided to hang up my rod and reel and relegate myself to the sidelines--make that shorelines--cheering on my husband and faking an interest in his fishing tales. The way I see it, he's lucky, 'cause I know some wives who fake other things--need I say more?"

I also read about another "two time" fishing widow. Seems this Georgia girl first watched her dad leave home regularly to travel the country as a vagabond pro on the CITGO Bassmaster Tournament Trail.

Then, as an adult, she ended up supporting her husband, as he, too, established a career as a touring pro.

Does she have any regrets? If so, this Georgia gal isn't talking about 'em. She only seems extremely proud of her two fishermen. Both turned out to be winners, as evidenced by the fact they each have fished in the Bassmasters Classic.

And now comes my turn to 'fess up about my own actions. Speaking of regrets, let me assure everyone that I, like the two-time fishing widow, have absolutely none about getting hooked on fishing as a kid. Those hours I spent with Pop and my brother on the river, a farm pond, or the strip pits, catching whatever happened to be biting at the time, are precious memories I hope I'll never forget.

Things started getting out of hand in 1971, however, shortly after I married my second wife. One neighbor in the apartment building where we moved began inviting me along on bass-fishing trips to a local lake.

Before I knew it, I had joined a bass club, was involved with region fishing events, and, as if that wasn't enough, had joined a bowling league, too. All these things combined put me in a position where I had obligations of some kind occurring nearly every weekend.

The coup de gras came in July 1976, when I received a set of Navy orders to report to Bahrain as public affairs officer for Commander Middle East Force. I made a monumental error in judgment and signed up to fish the first day (Saturday) of a two-day tournament with my bass club, knowing full well I had to leave for Bahrain in the wee hours the very next morning. I probably should explain here that this assignment was earmarked as a one-year, unaccompanied tour.

My wife had made the tournament trip with me, but she wasn't a happy camper. To put it bluntly, she was flabbergasted that I had decided to fish, given this set of circumstances.

It should come as no surprise, especially to all the fishing widows out there, that my actions in this particular instance forced some major changes in my future fishing habits. For openers, I agreed to leave all bass club and region events in the rearview mirror. I also agreed to scale back the number of  my fun trips each year.

My wife has no problem accepting her role as a fishing widow, as long as I don't make her feel as though I'm taking advantage of her. After 47 years of marriage, I've learned my limits. And you know what? It all works because, at age 75, I honestly no longer have the stamina to fish more than a couple times (three at the very most) per week. Generally speaking, when I fish one 8-hour day, it takes me 2-3 days to regroup and be ready to go again.

Don't get me wrong. I still love my bass fishing. However, I also still love my wife, and I don't want to do anything to ruin either one of those affairs.

For what it's worth, I'd like fishing widows everywhere to know that I take my hat off to all of you. I think you're very special.