Pop and the Trading Stamp Special

Nothing takes my mind off the end of hunting seasons, lousy weather and the impending day of reckoning with the IRS as reflecting on the good times of the past. Specifically, I've been thinking about my old fishing teacher and partner, my grandfather.

Generally, lessons, skills and traditions are passed down from one generation to the next. In Pop's case, that got turned around a little. My grandfather was never much of a fisherman until my mother married my dad. My dad liked to fish, and he got Pop hooked. Dad's interest waned, but Pop became an avid fisherman. He'd go at least once a week. The beauty of this once-a-week trip was he'd take me. We'd pile into his huge, blue Oldsmobile and head out to the dozens of farm ponds where he had permission to fish. Some days we'd hammer the fish. Others, we wouldn't.

These were special times for me. Since my older sister wasn't interested in going and my next younger brother was too young to go, it was just Pop and me. We'd go up to Indiana where he kept a big garden and fish in the farmer's pond. If the fish weren't biting, we'd go down the road to another pond. He always seemed to have one more place to try.

I remember one time Pop and my grandmother (who died when I was really young) went to Kentucky Lake. As he told the story, he caught a tiny bluegill. My grandmother teased that it was no bigger than the minnows she was using. With that, he figured his little bluegill should be just right for bait. Pop left the small fish on the hook and heaved it back out. Soon enough a seven pound bass grabbed it.

Pop had that fish mounted and I believe he was proud of it until the day he died. He loved telling the story of how he caught it, and I loved listening to it. To this day, if I catch a tiny bluegill, I pitch it right back out just like Pop did. You never know when lightning might strike twice in the same place.

I remember when Pop started fly fishing. He saved Top Value trading stamps until he had enough books to get his first fly rod. It was a split-bamboo, Taiwanese-made rig. It came in three sections and had an extra tip section to make the rod either five-weight or seven-weight. It wasn't state-of-the-art, but it was the state of his art.

I remember the day Pop came home from work with it. He was beaming. He changed his clothes, bolted down dinner and immediately headed out to go fishing with his new toy. He didn't take me that evening. I'm sure he went alone so he could concentrate on this new fishing system. Over the years, Pop became quite proficient with it. He always seemed able to produce a respectable string of bluegills after uncasing his "Trading Stamp Special."

I also remember the last time I went fishing with Pop. It was about 15 years ago. We went out on an April day which turned cold. The rain began just as we started fishing. He was far better prepared than I. Pop had brought his rain suit. I had to make due with a couple of garbage bags with head and arm holes punched in the sides. Still, he looked old, tired and very cold. Finally, I convinced him that it was I who was too cold and wet to stay. I'll never forget how Pop looked that day. He had grown old and feeble. I figured this would likely be one of his last fishing trips.

Although Pop lived a number of years after that trip, I never knew him to go fishing again. An era ended that April day. It was one of the few times in my life I've been perceptive enough to recognize a significant event as it happened. Pop died a few years ago. His body and mind finally just wore out. He was in his early nineties. I'm sorry we didn't get to go fishing again, but it just wasn't meant to be. I miss him.

I was lucky enough to end up with some of Pop's personal effects. I have his bamboo fly rod. It has a bad set in one section. I've got it dangling from a floor joist in my basement with a weight on it, in hopes it'll straighten out. I'd like to use this old pole one last time. If that happens, I'm sure Pop will be looking over my shoulder giving me advice. I know he can't be there in person, but he'll be there in spirit. I'll have one more chance to fish with Pop.