When I was a ten year old farm kid I loved to go fishing. Now that didn’t happen very often in those years for a variety of reasons.

The dozen cows had to be milked twice daily seven days a week. The chickens had to be fed and watered. Several times a day the laying hens’ eggs had to be gathered and brought into the house where they were washed and prepared for delivery to the creamery each week. The sheep and pigs had to be cared for on a daily basis also.

Then there was the field work. Rock picking in the spring, seeding and corn cultivation during the early summer. Oh, and let’s not forget about hay baling during those steamy, hot summer days.

The point I’m trying to make is that during my growing up years on the farm there wasn’t much time to squeeze in an afternoon of fishing.

Occasionally Dad would decide we needed a break and we would strap the eight foot cane poles to the side of the car, pack a picnic lunch and everyone, all six of us, would pile into the car and make the ten mile trip to Big Stone Lake for an afternoon of hopefully abundant fishing fun.

That didn’t happen often enough to fulfill my desire to watch that red and white bobber dance momentarily on the lake’s surface and suddenly disappear as a crappie decided to have lunch on my minnow bait.

So one summer afternoon I decided to take matters into my own hands. If I couldn’t travel to the lake and fish I would go fishing in the slough behind our barn. Who knew if there were fish there or not? Dad and Mom chuckled at the idea as did my three siblings.

I would show them. I got my Dad’s hand saw and cut a six foot willow branch and removed the leaves and smaller side branches. Then I found ten feet of twine and tied it to the branch. Using a pliers I fashioned a crude hook out of heavy wire and attached a corncob bobber to the twine.

Because the hook was so thick I wasn’t able to attach a squirmy night crawler to it without the worm breaking apart. So I just tossed the wormless line into the slough water hoping a fish would attack the crudely made hook.

Of course my excitement quickly faded when the corncob bobber sat motionless for half an hour and then another half hour. It became evident that I would have to face the “We told you so.” from the rest of my family. 🙁

My love of fishing never faded in spite of my inability to secure fish from the family slough or finding time to take trips to Big Stone Lake with real fishing tackle and bait.

Then high school graduation occurred and I decided to treat myself to a day of fishing at Big Stone Lake. I caught two large frogs and headed for the lake. Not wanting to trespass on anyone’s lakeshore property I descended a steep ditch bank right off the highway that ended at the water’s edge.

I had a new open faced rod and reel and I excitedly dropped my huge frog bait into the lake water. Almost instantly there was a swirl in the water and my line tightened as a five pound large mouth bass engulfed my frog!

I landed the fish and immediately attached my last remaining frog to the hook and dropped it into the lake. Again the water swirled and another fish struck my bait only this time the frog was ripped off the hook and the fish swam off looking very smug I’m sure.

I returned home that afternoon and proudly displayed my catch to my Dad who was at the time struggling emotionally. You see the previous Thanksgiving our Mom had died suddenly and Dad was overwhelmed with caring for his four offspring, the farm and household duties.

As I look back now I realize the big fish gave him something else to think about. We cleaned the fish and Dad got out the old baking pan and he slathered the fish with butter and baked the fish for supper.

It turned out to be a bonding time with my Dad and myself and I think fondly of that meal and how it provided a little ray of sunshine during a dark time in our family’s life.

A couple weeks ago I returned to my home town and was visiting with some of the locals when a discussion began about the ice fishing successes on the slough behind where our barn had stood fifty-six years ago.

My ears immediately perked up and I asked them to repeat where that ice fishing had taken place. I wanted to be sure that it was actually our family slough they were talking about. It was!

It seems several years ago the DNR had planted walleye fingerlings in the slough. The slough was free of predators so the fingerlings were safe and food was plentiful. They grew quickly.

The fish were seined out of the slough and transferred to neighboring lakes. However, not all the fish were successfully captured with the DNR nets so they were left in the slough to continue growing larger.

I was given a second chance to return to the slough behind our barn to catch fish . So this spring with a more modern closed face rod and reel and a fancy red and white dare devil lure I headed to the old farm site to do some serious walleye catching.

With every cast I anticipated the strike of a hungry walleye. No strike occurred as I reeled in my lure. The hook contained an occasional stringy water plant but not any fish.

Then with the bad luck I was experiencing more bad luck occurred when my lure got hung up on a cluster of cattails. I tugged and pulled to no avail when suddenly my line snapped. I was forced to go home fishless and missing my favorite red and white dare devil lure.

But I was not defeated. You see I have a flat bottomed duck boat stored in the trees behind our house. It has a small leak but I’m going to buy some of that black gooey stuff they advertise on television and coat the bottom of the boat and the leak should be fixed. At least that’s what that commercial promises!

Then I will paddle the boat far away from the cattails and fish till my heart’s content. 🙂 I can just taste those walleye fillets now!

As I’m out in that slough water reeling in walleye after walleye I can imagine my Dad, Mom and my brother Tom looking down from Heaven with big smiles on their faces they will probably say something like this, “Well Mickey had to wait sixty-five years but you have to admit he is catching fish in the slough behind our old barn.”

I was right it just took me sixty-five years to accomplish the task! 🙂

Until next time.