Hell on Reels
I wanted to throw him overboard and head to the house. His arguing and complaining with his brothers and I had reached an all-time high. The disrespect coming from the mouth of my 10-year-old son was more than I could bear as I tried to keep the peace in the little 16 foot flat-bottom boat. As I try to keep worms on hooks for his little brothers he demands I untangle his line, rolling his eyes as I try to explain to him that he is not my only child. My anxiety builds with his impatience as he continues to start arguments with his brothers and the turmoil builds.
Billy rolls his eyes as his brother misses another bite. “Zack! How could you miss that fish? He’s going to swallow the hook!”
Surprising myself, I reach behind him, grabbing him by the straps and collar of his life jacket, I chuck my oldest son into Chief Lake. Immediately, there is wailing and gnashing of teeth, as my younger two sons cry for their oldest brother. Red and white bobbers roll in a one foot wake from the plunge. Bluegill, bass, and pike scatter into the depths.
As the weeping continues, I sit down with my mug and take a nice long drink of cold coffee and watch my oldest son bob up and down in the lake with a look of shock on his face. Homeowners along the lakeshore peer out their windows in wonder of the fuss. How could a person throw a child from a boat like that!? I catch the eye of an older woman sitting on a bench at the end of her aluminum dock and flash a wicked, malicious smile her way. The sobbing continues and I begin to laugh a hysterical Tom Hanks laugh at the entire situation. I even begin to point my finger childishly at my oldest son floating in the water next to the boat. No one shares in my humor.
A pathetic wet figure stares at me as I pretend to enjoy my cold beverage. Should I leave him? I think to myself. That would be pretty funny, but I’m sure that I would receive a knock on my door by a social worker by the end of the day if I did that. So we stare at each other for a moment longer deciding our next moves.
“Billy! Are you alright!?” Zack hollers to his brother as if he fell off the S.S. Badger halfway to Wisconsin. No answer, just staring.
“I’m telling Mom! Mom would never do that!” Billy finally yells at me as he starts to swim back to the edge of the boat.
“Ok. What do you think she’ll say?” I reply as I plop a bobber and worm two foot from his shoulder, the little splash causing him to wipe his face in disgust.
“I’m never going fishing with you ever again Dad!”
I’ve heard this one many times. I’ve even turned it around on him just as many, as a threat, and never fulfilled it. We always fish together. We would rather fish than anything else in the world. His dreams are filled with fish and his world revolves around the prospect of catching bigger fish. He caught his first king salmon when he was six and many big pike and bass to boot. He will freeze his hands until they’re too numb to catch steelhead on the pier. He’ll soak himself to the bone in the rain on a frozen lake waiting for a late season tip-up flag.
Today we are out for his little brothers, not that Billy sees himself above catching bluegill under little red and white plastic bobbers. I ignore his comment and lift him by the shoulders of his life jacket and he slides over the gunwale onto the floor of the boat. He resembles a wet, red-haired dog in all his clothes.
As he lies in the bottom of the boat for a few minutes, pouting, I wonder to myself, did I create this monster? Since he has been able to walk I have brought him on every fishing and hunting endeavor I have embarked on. We have shot at turkeys and deer and netted many big fish together. My wife and I choose to homeschool our boys in order to give them the freedom to join in on all nature has to offer, uninterrupted.
I have a friend who was a full-time fly guide on the Big Manistee River in northwest lower Michigan. He has told me to be careful with this child of mine or he may end becoming a guide. His determination and relentless will is leading him into a life of banged up jet boats and marginal pay. “That boy is going to be hell on reels when he gets old enough to drive.” But you have to follow your dreams.
Waylon and Willy must have been speaking of fishing guides when they sang,
“Mommas don’t let your babies grow up to be cowboys (fishing guides).
Don’t let ‘em pick guitars (tie flies) or drive them old trucks (boats).
Let ‘em be doctors and lawyers and such.
Mommas don’t let your babies grow up to be cowboys (fishing guides).
Cause they never stay home and they’re always alone
Even with someone they love.”
And further more they speak of the pride of a guide, “He ain’t wrong he’s just different. But his pride won’t let him do things to make you think he’s right”. In fact, the entire song represents the life of a fishing guide.
As things begin to settle down in the boat, Billy picks himself up and grabs his rod, doggedly untangling the line from the tip. After a minute or so he clips off the tangled portion and reties his hook with a polymer knot. After baiting up he makes a perfect cast to the lilies and plops down beside me.
For a moment we settle into a groove on the little boat. No one yells or complains. Fish are getting caught. Wow! This is actually pleasant. I think to myself. These boys are going to be great anglers someday. I must be doing something right! At that moment I feel a searing pain behind my ear along with the slime of a 4 inch night crawler splattered on the side of my face. A split shot takes a dull thump into my forehead. I calmly try to take the rod away from Daniel, my 4-year-old, but he struggles with me not wanting to give it up and not understanding what he has done. As I reach for the Lightning McQueen rod he goes to make a quick cast sinking the hook and worm past the barb into the back of my ear. I announce the most dreaded words of any fishing trip, even this one, “It’s time to go home! Time to call it a day boys!” as I rip the 3-foot pole from my youngest son’s hands. They all beg and plead for ten more minutes of fishing. And it’s time to start a conversation with the wife about a bigger boat.
