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Sweet Trick


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Sweet Trick


In those days we fished

with cane poles, woven line

and cork bobbers. In the shallow,

still waters of the lake that

fed the deserted mill trace,

even a boy could swing his

night crawler to a likely spot.


I sat, content, smoking my pipe

and watched my motionless line

leading to a spot near

the perfect cover for an imagined

lunker, lurking cautiously near

the rotten log. My reverie then

ended with my son's intrusion.


He sat near, almost touching,

gave me a big grin, his silence

hiding his obvious plan as he

lifted and lowered his pole to

gently plop his bobber within

inches of my own. I smiled as

it sank rapidly. Too much weight.


The weight that sank his float

bent his firmly held rod double,

its tip pointing at the large fish

struggling to reach bottom.

I gaped and wondered

if the fish outweighed

the boy with bare feet shoved into the bank.


The fish would not budge,

so he stood and slowly backed

up the bank, sliding his prey

along the bottom until it showed

its moustache and white belly

flopping in the mud. Still silent,

my son and I wore huge grins.


He now fishes with a priceless,

antique split bamboo fly rod,

loaded with silk, no. 6, waxed line,

bought by me for my own pleasure

just to watch him catch fish

that I will never snag with my old

crank reel and metal lures.


He ties his own flies, taking pride

in his contribution to the perfect

angling combination. At almost

any moment of a fishing day,

I see him grin the same grin as he

remembers stealing the big blue cat

from under his father's bent nose.

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Classic fdh, if ever I've read it! Nobody puts me there the way you do. It plays, in my mind, like a short 8 mm. What a wonderful memory for both of you. Clear, concise and so very real. A great read.


I too, fished with a bamboo pole and the old red and white bobber, though mostly in the Ol' Miss; nudges my own memories, like the day I managed to hook myself, in the butt.



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Beautiful, and well told. Being a lazy fisherman, my younger brother a fanatic, I relate to both points of view;-) Just got my NY license hope in august to fish the lake I caught my 'first' memorable heart thumping fish a bullhead when I was about 9 years old. Thanks for this it may get me off my butt to rig up the ol' poll and go out this weekend!



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Take a young boy/girl with you Doc. You may need some help. No, that's this old shell. Fish stories get better with memory. MQ, my g'son hooked me in the earlobe on his back swing, his father--the thief--watching and laughing while he performed surgery. A few months later, they presented me with a spinner lure for me to wear in my ear as bling. That was unkind. I can't win.

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David W. Parsley

The comments and the poem make great slapstick! Had me in 'stitches'! (uhm, sorry about that pun...) (No, I'm not sorry enough to take it back)


- Dave

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OK Dave. It took me awhile to appreciate the old/modern humor. My son is reliving his youth through his son/clone.

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