As Long As There's a Will, There's a Way

Saw an item online this morning about a 73-year-old fella who still fishes with three different clubs for a total of three or four tournaments a month. A friend said he "fishes out of an old crappie stick-steering boat that blows more smoke than a politician, but his love of catching and desire to win still is very much there.

"Someone usually has to get in his boat and assist him with his life vest," noted the friend, adding that "we once had to call an ambulance because he had suffered heat stroke in one of our mean Louisiana summers. He always has a great attitude and messes with everyone. Last year, we had a tournament with 100-plus boats, and he smoked everyone."

Now, there's a guy most other old-timers only wish they could emulate.

Into my 30s and 40s, I easily had that kind of giddy-up-go. I often fished multiple days a week year-round. I also frequently spent week-long summer trips camping out and fishing Lake Gaston or Kerr Reservoir with Navy buddies. Most of those trips were fish-all-day and drink-beer-all-night ventures. And that says nothing of many overnight catfishing trips on the Shenandoah River.

At this point in my life, however, I count myself lucky to be able to still fish a couple days per week. It easily takes me 48 to 72 hours between these trips to regain my energy levels and feel normal again.

In my honest opinion, though, I'm not ready, by any stretch of the imagination, for the scrap heap of time, nor am I planning any kind of retirement from fishing. There's a poem that pretty well describes exactly where I stand today. It's depicted in the accompanying photo of a piece of cross-stitch my wife did for me many moons ago. It hangs conspicuously over my desk.

As it is, I'm no better or worse off than any other old-timer who refuses to give up what many times is the only form of recreation we still can enjoy. Sure, I pay a price for every trip I make, but as I see it, the benefit far outweighs any and all of the aches and pains involved.

Dad always told me I was destined to be a "hard-headed Dutchman" just like him, and I reckon he was right...just as he was about most things he shared with me while growing up. Golly! Can't begin to tell you how much I still miss him and Mom.