The Trials of Fishing

The Trials of Fishing

Fishing as a young lad can be very exciting in the Spring-time.  Walleye and Northern Pike are seen working their way up the river to spawn, and they are hungry for any food that comes their way.  Fishermen of all ages get excited over the possibility of catching the really big one to take home as a trophy, as well as enjoying the scrumptious meal with the family.  Young boys are often seen watching the older more experienced fisherman.  These elderly gentlemen are observed working their trade with their special lures and certain kinds of casting techniques that they effortlessly pitch into the swirling depths of the river before them.  Watching these gentlemen fish as a youth was one of my greatest experiences that I could have as a young lad.  These elder fishermen somehow knew where the best spots were, and the best time of day to catch these trophy fish.  If a boy chose not to learn from these older anglers, he might walk home disappointed with no fish to show for his efforts.   Then again, there were days where dumb luck entered into the scene and some kid walked home outshining the older fellows, but these times were few and far between.  Overall though, fishing was a lot of fun with all its ups and downs.  

Each day when heading to the dam I would first check out the people that got their before me. If they had full stringers filled with wonderful fish, then I knew that it was going to be a good day for fishing. If their stringers on the other hand were empty or had bullheads on them, then it would be better for me to head home and pursue some other endeavor.  Perhaps I would ride my bike, or play in the park, and if I had bean-walking money in my pocket, I would head to my great uncles’ pool hall and play Snooker or Eight Ball.  Either way, I wasn’t going to sit on some riverbank and swat mosquitoes the rest of the hot afternoon and get nothing to show for it.  

At times though, events bare fruit in different ways other than fishing, even when you are trying to catch the big one, and it gets away.  One day in particular I was on the bank fishing and some boys stopped by to see how it was going.  I told them of the many fish I had caught (at the time I had an empty stringer that I had  hidden in the water) and the different fishing techniques that I used. They seemed impressed, so I continued on with my oration.  As I paused with my dissertation of my vast skills, they asked me if it was hard fishing.  I looked up into the air as if relaying my extensive knowledge to a much larger invisible audience, and at that crucial moment, I saw myself as a font of wisdom, so I went on with my lecture, “Well boys, a man named Confusion once said “If you love what you do, you will not work a day in your life” They seemed overly impressed with my skills, my vast vocabulary and knowledge, so much so that they wanted to take up fishing as well.  Just then, the noon whistle went off and they headed home to eat, but I could see from the expressions on their faces that they were sufficiently inspired.  For myself, I waited until they were out of sight to pull my empty stringer out of the water and quickly head home to dinner as well. 

Horse Riding Adventures From My Childhood

Horse Riding Adventures From My Childhood

Growing up in the 50’s and 60’s children like myself watched many westerns on T.V.  It was the adventure of the unknown that sparked every child’s imagination while cowboys led their horses and cattle into unfamiliar territory.  There were cattle rustlers, gunslingers, and wild cowboy towns filled with wild women and rowdy men.  Marshalls were trying to keep the peace all the while cowboys who had been on the cattle trails for months were seen blowing off steam, sometimes with too much enthusiasm.  Young lads from every strata of society watched movies like Gunsmoke, Bonanza, and The Rifleman religiously.  Filling this frenzy for more, boys asked for 6 gun shooters (cap guns) along with chaps, holsters and of course the white and black cowboy hats.  When not being able to afford the plastic headed horse with a broomstick attached, one just “borrowed” mom’s kitchen broom that is until she saw that it was left in the yard near our imaginary buried gunslingers on “Boot Hill.”  Endless days were spent playing into the twilight hours when mother’s throughout the neighborhood collectively hollered for their young cowboys to head back to the ranch for supper and bed.  

It was not uncommon for homes to have hats and pistol belts hanging from the boys’ bedroom doors.  This of course was needed in case any desperado was found slinking by in the middle of the night. If you could afford it, and your trail bosses (mom and dads) would let you get them, caps for your 6 shooters were the “Cats’ Meow”.  After purchasing them at the Ben Franklin Five and Dime stores, they usually lasted a young cowboy about two days, or until an unknown varmint needed shooting in the middle of the night.  After the midnight shootout rendezvous, pets in the household usually hid under the bed for the rest of the night while little cowboys had their arms or (six shooters) taken away until morning.  

In our house we had a Chihuahua that thought she was a German Sheppard.  She was fearless until something like another dog, regardless of size ventured too close, and then our courageous canine would head under the bed and shake.  Someone needed to protect the area under the bed, why not our little dog. She would guard my brothers and sisters fearlessly, that is, until pretty much anyone or anything came by. And when that happened she would advance to the underside of the bed, which she thought desperately needed defending at the time.  

Westerns had become so much the fabric of our lives as little boys growing up, that we ate, slept, and thought of cowboy life pretty much during every waking hour.  Our parents patiently waited for this phase to pass, but they were also the ones who joined in on the western shows on T.V. as well.  During the day, when our father was at work, we would invent the wild-west not only in our imagination, but also in our neighborhood as well.  Behind our home Mr. E. (another neighbor) had an area fenced off for his private zoo.  It encompassed many acres of woods, ravines and exotic animals he collected. As young boys we would not only venture into this area, but we would be cowboys out on a roundup, but instead of horses, there were peacocks, Japanese deer, antelope, and of course lions as well.  We felt that if we had our cap guns with us, nothing could harm us.  Now as an adult, when looking back at this time, I now know that the lions that Mr. E. had were pretty tame.  I was told that one day he rode one to work for the others to see and enjoy. I was also told that he would occasionally let a lion out when a salesman drove into his place. This would for some reason would discourage the most of energetic of salesman from exiting their cars when the lion would jump up against the window of his vehicle.  Later I would learn that the salesman would drive away never to return again to Mr. E.’s place.  

As in the old west, the sheriff would play a major role in keeping the peace in these tumultuous times. Our town too had a sheriff, and he happened to live next door to us.  Sheriff Benjamin was a very kind man and he seemed to understand children very well.  Like in the old west, we had railroad tracks going near our home. And like what happened in the old west, Hobo’s would ride the rail and come to our town as well.  When entering our town, they would need a place to stay and food to fill their empty stomachs.  Sheriff Benjamin being kind and feeling sorry for them, he would let them stay in his barn in the back and his kind wife would give them food to eat.  After having a couple of days gone by, I would discover that they were no where to be found. They had left early in the morning, our temporary neighbor had taken the next train out heading west. Boxcars were plentiful during this time and they made ideal places for hobos to ride in.  Sometimes though the boys in the neighborhood would sneak out at night and we would meet at the Benjamin’s barn, all with intent of listening to the hobo’s telling us about all the places in the world that they had seen. While they spoke, visions popped into our heads of riding with them on the rail, our holsters filled with fresh caps and cowboy hats hanging from our necks as we would ride west into cowboy territory, seeing the wild west in all its excitement that it would bring our way.  As we sat around the hobo’s campfire, our eyes would bulge with all the tales they would tell us, and later, we would head home to bed with all the makings of wonderful dreams to come.  

I remember when I was 7, we moved to another part of town that was near the river and near the woods, as well as pasture land that belonged to our neighbors, the Olsons. The Olson’s had two horses. They were not ridden much in the winter months and when spring came, they (the horses) had it in their collective minds not to let anyone ride them.  Toby was a Shetland pony and Ginger was a rather large mare. Wanting in the worst way to finally ride a horse, I asked our neighbors if I could ride Ginger.  They reluctantly said yes, but they put the stipulation that she hadn’t been ridden in months and most likely would buck me off.  I accepted the challenge and readily jumped on to her back.  Riding bare back with no reins I thought would be easy, after all, the Indains in the old west did it all the time.  That was a fatal error in judgement on my part. Upon getting on Olson’s horse, the neighbor boy let Ginger go and her eyes almost seemed to come out of her head with horror.  All of sudden she stood back on her hind legs and I thought she would fall back on me and I would be only recognized by a cowboy belt as they put me in the casket all flattened into mush with two eyeballs popped out of my head and a stupid smile on my face.  As Ginger reared back I instinctively grabbed tighter on her mane and that only make it worse.  She really got upset at that point.  I could only imagine what she was thinking, “Who does this little upstart think he is, pulling on my mane and trying to ride on my back!” Ginger instantly came down on all four legs and then broke into a full gallop racing down the gravel path at full speed.  Making a sharp right turn I barely managed to hold on all the while Ginger was bellowing out screams that I thought a horse could not make.  I have to say that I too was getting pretty excited at that moment. Holding on for dear life, I then realized maybe Ginger would calm down, she then stood in one place, let out a growl of anger and then proceeded to run at a full gallop.  Trying to hold on with just her mane to grab hold of, I found my body bouncing in the air as if in slow motion as the horse began to pickup speed.  At that moment I thought that the rest of the neighborhood boys were probably in awe over my abilities with horse riding.  Just then though, Ginger put both front hooves out in front of her and stopped abruptly.  She skidded to a quick halt all the while I found myself sailing past her head as if in slow motion.  But, in reality I was flying very fast into the air as I glided down to the level of the ground, skidding across the gravel past my friends, chin first.  The boys watching broke out in hysterical laughter while I on the other hand was trying to get my lungs working again by gasping for any air that I could muster after having the wind knocked out them.  

My friends picked me off the ground, but as I was being led away, I looked over at Ginger and I swear I could see her smiling and nodding at me as she slowly turned

away to continue her breakfast.  

Push Karts, A Childhood Story

Many times when testing out new items in their lines, manufacturers will hire special people to test their products to the limits of their endurance.  This in turn produces goods that will handle the worst of punishments and yet remain intact. The outcome leads to customer satisfaction, and that is what determines product sales in the long term.  Children pick up on these cues as well when constructing their inventions which leads me to my story. 

I remember one time my two brothers, Mike, and Ken were planning to build push karts and when I heard of it, I asked to join in on their project.  They generously granted my request and a great adventure began.  Mike, being the older brother and filled with more wisdom and experience, was our leader.  He said that our “karts” must be strong and be able to handle the worst of punishments.  Ken and I respecting our big brother’s logic, agreed. We wanted to make our race vehicles strong, sleek and yet light enough for speed.  Yet it was in the design phase that we soon found that we had to air out a few bugs along the way.  Not wanting to plan to far ahead, we stuck with the idea of having fast push karts and the rest we would figure out later.

Before purchasing our building materials, we first had to earn the money, check!  That was accomplished by picking rocks for the farmers who never were in short supply of these.  One day while working for a local farmer, I looked over the area in front of me and I sighed at the thousands of rocks that had yet to be put on the wagon.  I thought, “I just picked these rocks up a year ago, how is it that they are here again? Does the farmer just dump them on the hill in the fall because he runs out of space on his farm, or is it some other unforeseen event that causes this to happen year after year; I was definitely perplexed and wanted an answer in my tormented anguish.  I then sought the wisdom of the hired man whom I thought was much smarter than myself.  I asked, “How is it that these rocks keep reappearing each year Mr. H.?”  He thought for a good many minutes, then scratching his chin this towering figure of strength and wisdom said, “Well let me tell you Augie, it is the Chinese that keep pushing them up every year!”  Bitten with intense curiosity, I got closer to hear his wisdom.  “You see they are on the opposite end of our Earth and that is how they get rid of them.”  Being a somewhat skeptical 8 year old I said, “Are you sure?”  He responded by putting on the most serious look possible on his face, he then bent over to my somewhat short stature and said, “Of course I’m sure!”  Not wanting to create more puzzles for myself than I had to, I left this dilemma for another time. I now needed to concentrate on more important things, how I was going to construct my awesome pushcart.

The three of us having worked very hard for our money, now a month later, had enough to purchase the items that we needed for the pushcarts.  We went to our local hardware store, (Bob’s Fleet Supply) and bought six lengths of rods for the axles, 12 wheels to fit over the axles and cotter keys to hold the wheels on.  Next, we  went to our local lumberyard to buy the 2/4’s for the frame and axle supports.  The next challenge hit me was when I was starting to walk home.  How was I going to walk four 8’ long - 2”x4” two miles across town? This was going to be one of my biggest challenges that I faced up until this point.  Then it dawned of me; “Why not just float them on the river!” Since the river went through town, by floating them rather than carrying them such a long distance seemed like a world-shattering thought? But, when walking down to the riverbank I discovered that the current was going the wrong way.  I lived up river and the current was heading the opposite direction. I would later be forever grateful for not exercising that not so thought out plan.  I could just see myself floating down river with 2/4’s on either side of me heading to Iowa, never to be seen again.  Many years later, I thought of that not so bright idea when the Army had us doing just about the same thing in officer training at Fort Lewis, but instead of 2/4’s it was with rifles, ponchos, and another guy helping me to hold on to our collective gear all the while we were cascading down some very cold glacier rapids. After bouncing off rocks and swirling around in the frigid currents, my river rat friend and I wondered if we would ever survive, and if our blood would ever return to their collective homes in our legs again.  At that low point in my life and seeing my world flash before me, I derived some aggravated comfort in knowing that I was not the only one with stupid ideas. 

Next, we needed more goods from Bob’s Fleet Supply.  It was our next stop in providing us with the necessary items for our steering. We needed to purchase 4” long bolts that were to fasten the 2”x4”s, and the steel axles to the steering mechanism that would pivot back and forth allowing us to steer our push karts.  Along with the steering mechanisms, we needed to purchase braces for the axle supports as well as 12 penny nails (about 3” long) for the glue that was to hold our frame together. While heading home with our wares we walked with proud struts by the encouraging steps in our plans that we made, and we were on our way to having the greatest push karts in the city.  

The next part of our strategic plan was to go next door to Hample’s Repair and ask Roy Hample if he would drill the holes in our axles for the cotter keys that would hold the wheels on.  Roy was always kind to us and I am sure he did not charge us the full price for his labor. Overall, the construction process was somewhat hurried at times with steps being skipped, due more to expedience than caution.  We realized when assembling the axles for instance, that they needed to be attached to the 2/4’s somehow.  When reasoning further, I thought that we could go back to Bob’s Fleet Supply and perhaps they would have the perfect supports for our metal axles.  It was a great idea, but that would mean that we would have to pick more rocks for the money to buy them.  At that moment, my thoughts wondered to the hill of a thousand stones.  I sighed with deep remorse over going back to that place where the Chinese were having so much fun in torturing me by having me pick up all their rocks for them.  I then said to my brothers, “How about we just take our nails and bend them over to hold the steel axles on!”  Many minds make a job possible and sometimes, not so possible.  Now looking back at those moments of discovery and invention, I can see sometimes we as adults make expedient moves as well, that do in fact cost many extra dollars to a project and sometimes more importantly, lives as in the Challenger space project.  In the Challenger case it was a small O-ring that was the item in question. Sitting in my graduate class we discussed the dilemma of speedy time lines, cost overruns, and deadlines that create a dilemma called, “Group Think”.  This is when those in the decision-making groups pressure others to forget about safety standards into believing it can be fixed later.  If an individual in the group protests and stands alone in the group, they are pressured into conforming to the group’s consensus. In our case, it was the belief of Mike and I that bending the nails that was the best option.  Ken though had some reservations about the ability of our nails holding the axles on.  We quickly reminded him that the alternative was to head out to the rock pile and work another day to earn enough for the axle supports. Going through the agonizing moments with Ken, convincing him that it was more important to get the job done than in facing the hill of a thousand rocks again.  It seemed to make more sense to us in bending the nails over the axles versus every minute facing the trials on the rock hill.  After what seemed like an eternity, Ken saw that the nails were not such a bad option!  Later, I wondered if Ken agreeing to let his brother into Mike and his kart building plans might have been a mistake.  Oh well, I found that being 8 years old, it isn’t good to dwell on such ideas.  They can get in the way of progress.

The next challenge was that of safety, how could we go down our steep hill that lied before us and not end up flying out of the carts when reaching nearing what I thought was the speed of sound?  But more importantly, it was when turning at a sharp 90-degree angle at the T section at the bottom of the hill that was our greatest concern. None of us wanted to think of what it would look like being propelled at ultra high speeds into Mr. Carlson’s Super Fair’s rear store entrance or worse yet, his dumpster in the back.  Our budget was now exhausted and we had to use the resources at hand, but what could we do?  As perplexing as this next hurdle was, it dawned on me, ingenious thoughts come when needs are the greatest, or as I strained to remember at the time, some Geek or Greek (I’m not sure) philosopher once said, {Plato I think}, “Necessity is the Mother of Invention” and in a flash I saw the solution, “Nail my Sunday church belt to the cart’s seat!”  After all, we reasoned that I will only used it once a week, and who would notice a small nail hole in the back of the belt. One quickly realizes that it is relatively easy to overcome guilt when there is consensus in the group. We were soon discovering that a guilty conscience is an easy load to carry when shared with others.  

The next dilemma that we faced was making the cart as light as possible, how to do that was the question.  As we were looking at the possible trajectories that our bodies might fly by not having the necessary restraints, Mike noticed peach crates piled up in a dumpster. Ingenious, Mike was the thinker and he solved our problem. After consulting with Mr. Carlson, he gave us his peach crates and his only payment was that we give him a smile.  With that payment processed we headed on our way to victory.  

What one sees in the mind sometimes is greater than the sum of one’s thoughts.  But I wasn’t going to let road blocks enter into the scheme of things.  If I did that, I wouldn’t get anything done.  Ken’s idea of dismantling the walls of the peach crates and then layering them on the floor of the kart was very clever.  Together, they were very strong and yet light weight. I was glad in having such great thinkers for brothers.  Our dream was taking flight and I could now see the shape of a very sleek kart before my eyes.  As I looked it over I wondered how safe it would be if indeed it decided to roll over while speeding down the hill.  I knew that we couldn’t even afford helmets that would protect our heads, but what was the solution of protecting all of our body parts?  I could now stay in the kart with my Sunday belt, but it wouldn’t help me from banging the rest of my body when I was catapulting through the air without some form of protection.  Reasoning over this for sometime, I finally found it was my moment to shine.  I suggested to my brothers that we needed to enclose the cart for maximum protection.  Mike stood there rubbing his chin and Ken sighed and went, “hmm”.   We cogitated over this for some minutes and the light of inspiration once again struck, I said, “How about we put one peach crate the long way to protect the legs and two upright crates to guard the head from any injury!” Both of my brothers thought further and said that it might work, but it had to be with my kart that we experimented with.  I readily agreed to the terms and we hastily set the crates on the kart.  The next hurdle was how to fasten them to the frame? We had no glue, staples or small nails, the only fasteners that we had were the 12-penny nails.  Oh well, it will have to do I told my brothers, “We can make this work!”  When looking at the finished product, “from a distance” it looked not to bad!

With every challenge that comes in life, I believe that there is a way to overcome it.  I believed that we did meet the obstacles head on and we did indeed triumph over them.  I looked at my sleek pushcart and knew that brains and determination went behind its every round of development.  No man or boy could have been more proud of one’s creation than I was.  As I was gleefully walking around this product of formidable claims, I saw the culmination of man’s finest feat of ingenuity. But before my head was about to explode with pride, Ken said in low tones, “We still need to try it out and see how safe it really is.”  I looked at him with great misgivings and perhaps some disdain for trying in what seemed to me as an attempt to halt my monument to mankind.  I then said in a sullen voice, “Do you have any thoughts on how to do that?”  He said that rolling it down sideways on the gentle slope of our grassy hill would be a good way to test it.  And with that suggestion, I readily agreed to the plan.  I was at that point eager to take away any misgivings on his part and prove that my idea was good.

Getting into the upright peach crate proved to be more of a challenge than I had first anticipated. First of all, the opening was from the front and my body had to contort every which way to squeeze into the small space.  After about 5 minutes of bending my legs and extremities in ways that I thought previously impossible, I sat proudly down in my brand new pushcart.  My brother Ken noticed the smile on my face and said in a questioning voice, “Hope it holds together?”  I stared back at him with undaunted determination and responded in as positive voice as I could muster, “It will hold together, but thank you much!” Not letting Ken see my nervousness, in reality though, I was sweating bullets.  The first thing I noticed was the 12-penny nails sticking out towards my head.  The last thought that went through my mind was, “I should have bent them over!”  But I didn’t get a chance to halt the proceedings because of the vigilance of my siblings.  They were definitely in their test modes.  I raised a weak hand in protest to stop the proceedings, but my voice got stuck somewhere in my throat and the words wouldn’t come out. The last things I remember was one of my brothers pushing me hard down the grassy hill and the other pushing my cart sideways.  The next thing I realized in what seemed like the force of 10 gees grabbing a hold of me and all of sudden my body went limp as the force of the tumbling kart caused my head to bang from one side of the peach crate to the other. Flashes of large shiny nails went past my face at what seemed like the speed of light.  When I thought my life was about to end, the top of the peach crate went flying off in one direction and my upper torso went in the other. Fortunately for me, the gravel driveway slowed my decent and all I could feel was the grinding of gravel against my cheek.  The cart finally stopped with me being pinned in the remains of my dream.  Refocusing my eyes, I could now see that the crate that covered my legs was left halfway up the hill, and the enclosure that went around my head for protection was lying next to me.  At the same time I could feel the warmth of something running down my cheek.  Undaunted by a little blood, I felt my limbs, they all seemed to be working and in order, and not the worse for wear.  But then I looked near my face and I saw the glint of raw steel next to my eyes jutting out from the remains of the peach crate.  All that I could think of at that moment was that I was truly in trouble with my guardian angel.  He probably will show me all his puncture marks and scrapes when he escorts me to my heavenly home, and I imagine he will not be smiling.  

While getting out of the kart I could see one brother laughing uncontrollably while the other saying, “Hmm, didn’t think it would hold up, but it was worth a try!”  The one thing that did work though was my Sunday belt, it kept me in the kart.  I realized though that I would somehow have to ask for forgiveness since the nail hole in my Sunday belt was about the size of a dime.  No hiding that, and no hiding my guilt for ruining a perfectly good belt.  Though, in further thought, “It did save my life and that in itself I deemed as a very successful experiment!”

 Though my younger brother Curt was not born yet when these events took place, he had no less of a racing spirit than his 3 older brothers.  Here is Curt as an adult racing his Sprint Car.