FISHING

Fishing has been a part of my life ever since I can remember. My first memory about fishing was going with my Grandpap at a local state park before I was five. Other early memories were going fishing with my dad between the ages of six and ten. We would go to a lake up above the water falls at Toccoa, Georgia, where my dad went to college. We didn’t have a lot of money, but you didn’t need a lot of money to be a “shore” fisherman. Dad would load my brother and I up in his old black Ford Falcon station wagon on a Saturday, and off we’d go, poles, tackle box and all. Mom worked sometimes on Saturdays, so dad had “kid-duty.” Fishing was a great way to pass the time. I loved it. Dad always said I had the patience for it. My brother Paul, well he was touched with a bit of attention deficit disorder. He was forever reeling in and recasting, increasing his chances and rate of success of getting his line snagged in a tree or in the bottom of the lake on something. Eventually, Paul would get so bored that his pole ended up on the ground most of the time, while he wandered off to play in the woods or dirt. Many was the time dad discovered Paul had left his post when Paul’s bobber disappeared, and no one was on the other end of the pole to reel in the catch. Boy, would that make dad mad!

Anyway, dad had his hands full trying to keep track of his own line, and Paul’s, that I didn’t want to make him have to help me as well. This made me want to learn how to do it right. I really tried to listen as dad gave instruction. I kept the line tight, and my eye on the bobber. I only reeled in when the bobber disappeared because of a nibble, when the wind blew the bobber toward shore, or when dad would say, “OK Bud. Pull it in. We might need to put some fresh bait on it.”

The best part of fishing for me, was being in nature. I enjoyed how all my senses became engaged in the experience; the reflection of the landscape in the lake, the sun warming my skin, the sound of the forest animals scurrying about, the pine smell wafting on the breeze, and the taste of the candy bar dad brought along for the occasion.

Fishing continues to be a form of sanctuary for me. It’s a place I can get quiet. It’s a place of solitude. It’s a place of sweet serenity. It’s a place where I sense and feel the wonder of God, sometimes even more than in church. Some of my most worshipful experiences have been nestled in the bosom of His creation, holding a fishing pole (especially, when there is a BIG one pulling on my line!).