Minnewaska Musings

by Paul Gremmels

“Fishing, is the pursuit of something that is elusive but attainable. A perpetual series of occasions for – hope.”  –John Buchan

  

I had the good fortune of growing up near a couple of lakes and tributaries that offered a young angler endless opportunities to fish. Now, being older, I still smile when I see a kid riding his bike, precariously carrying a fishing pole and a tackle box. Or I see a group of kids crowded together at the end of a dock or strung out along a shoreline. Sadly, you don’t see it as much as you used to. Many things contribute to this I guess; a more diverse selection of activities, technology, cost, generational divides, etc.

Years ago, (I do like that I have reached a point in my life that I can use the aforementioned phrase) I dabbled in competitive fishing. I am glad that I did this through an era that began with smaller 14 foot aluminum boats and small outboard engines with renovated coolers used as livewells; evolving over the years, into sleek, powerful, fiberglass fishing machines with casting platforms and all the latest amenities and technology. Though the fishing equipment morphed and improved steadily over the years to what we have today, the anglers are mostly the same. The present day, professional anglers for example, those that do it for a living, all seem to have come from the same progression of experiences. Ask any one of the top pro anglers about the first fish they can remember catching, and you will get a detailed story about a red-eared sunfish or largemouth bass and the dock at their grandparent’s cabin, a pontoon ride, or a Zebco 202 fishing reel. If you are fortunate enough to catch the pro angler when they have time to talk, you will be given great details conveyed by a voice that echoes with a distant type of fondness. As if they are trying to reach across the waves of time to catch that precious moment again.

I recently caught up with one of those pros who was practicing for an upcoming tournament on my home lake, Minnewaska. He had just finished fishing for the day and was sitting in his boat that was on a trailer in the landing’s parking lot. He was quietly re-tying all of his rods as I walked up and said “hello.” A group of kids fished from the nearby shoreline. As we talked, I couldn’t help but think that this was the same person you see in magazines or on TV. His sunglasses hung down on a lanyard around his neck, his reading glasses balanced on the tip of his nose. His sharp, white “raccoon eyes” were highlighted by his dark, tanned face. He said that fishing was good. He then smiled, looked up at the sky and said, “Weather’s been nice too.”  He looked over at the kids, turned and winked at me and hollered, “You guys catching anything?” They mumbled an answer amongst themselves. “Come here, I got something for you!”  They hesitantly ambled up to his boat, their head and shoulders barely above the gunnels. “You guys ever fish with these?” He held up a bag of plastic worms. They nodded in the affirmative. “Well here.” he dug out several bags along with hook and sinker containers from a compartment in his boat. He loaded up their outstretched hands. “Okay, now, lemme show you guys how to tie a Palomar knot.”  The old pro looked up at me and smiled broadly, as he asked me a rhetorical question; “It never gets old, does it Paul?”