When I was a child my family discovered camping as an inexpensive way to travel. As kids we loved to sleep in tents, tend the campfire, and run wild in the woods. Every summer we'd pack up the tents, Coleman stove, and lawn chairs and head for another exciting destination.
One year when I was eight, my father planned a trip to Arkansas and of course, it was a camping trip. We spent many an evening meal listening to the plans which were being made for the occasion. A guide was being hired to take us out in his boat and he could get us on a fish if anyone could! Fishing, wow, I didn't know much about fishing, but it sounded great!
When we arrived at the campsite the usual chores were doled out for the setup of camp. Tent, dad's deal, and don't help him! Kitchen duty, mom's in charge of that, and don't even think about touching the stove. Car unloading, always the kid's duty. Check!
Next morning at day break we sit around the cement picnic table drinking hot chocolate and talking about the day. Oh, this is the day for the fishing isn't it? What? The men are going fishing? What about me and mom? Not fishing? What are we doing? Hanging around campsite? Are you @!#$#%$&*&%$#%* kidding me? I've been dreaming of this day for weeks, months in the mind of a child. What do you think an eight-year-old child, with a heart for fishing did about this predicament? Exactly, I stole a fishing pole and took off for the river.
Not knowing what I was doing and with no instruction I got frustrated quickly. I caught the seat of my pants more than I got the hook in the water. However, in my frustration, I was casting and reeling in so methodically that it was mind numbing. I'd had about enough of this. Then as I reeled in the line I saw a trout chasing the fly that some nice fisherman had tied on for me. I froze. That trout was about an inch from biting my hook and I was reeling too fast.
As I saw the trout, the trout saw me. Flash! He was gone. Okay then, I get it, sloooower. I tried and tried and tried, but alas, I was stumbling on the rocks, catching the seat of my pants, and no fish. I was ready to cry. Just about that time, an elderly grandpa-type called me to the fish cleaning station about six feet away.
Gramps was a gentle sole who had seen, and sympathized, with my suffering. "You wanna learn to clean fish?" "Sure!" I said. He proceeded to show me how to remove the eyes, split them up the middle, then gut them. Being eight I didn't realize that it was suppose to be gross. I was too busy learning about fishing!
When I got back to camp I had one uncleaned fish. I declared, "Mom, watch what I can do!" Then I pulled out my pocket knife and showed her what my mentor had taught me. "Oh my, God!!!" And she turned on her heel and puked in the bushes. Well, I wasn't sure why she wasn't feeling well, but I had a new trick.
My mom and I never did see eye to eye on a woman's place in the outdoors. She sort of accepted that I liked it and she didn't. To this day the men of my family don't fish. Me on the other hand fish and often. Guess the good Lord just put it in me to like it.
