The Old
Fisherman
by Jerry Guarino
Tony carefully looked over
his choices. Should I go with live bait or a
lure? The sky is clear today. No cloud cover
means the fish will be able to see me casting. A
shiny yellow plunker will catch the sunlight and
attract them, but a live minnow will attract
their smell. All right, I’ll start with the
plunker.
The plunker was his
favorite lure. His father had given it to him
before he died, along with all his old gear. Sure,
there were fancy new lures, but the plunker was
his dad’s favorite, so he used it out of
respect. Tony remembered getting up early to get
on the boat. His mom would pack a lunch for them.
By the end of the day, they were as smelly as the
fish, but always brought something home for
dinner.
But he was alone today.
Both his parents gone now. Fishing was the one
thing he could do that brought back memories of
them.
It was one of those days
when the fish were winning. Tony never got
skunked before. He thought about fishing with his
father, how his dad would encourage him when the
fish weren’t biting.
“Don’t worry Tony.
The big ones are coming. You have to be patient.”
And they always came. Tony
and his father wouldn’t leave until they
brought one home for dinner, even if it was small,
just one or two pounds.
Tony was getting tired. He
reached down for a snack, but there wasn’t
any.
I guess Ma forgot to
pack my lunch. Or maybe I just forgot to take it.
Yeah, Ma never forgets me.
Tony started to rub his
eyes. The sun was going down. He heard something
from behind. It was his son David.
“How are they biting
pop? What have you caught today?”
“Sorry son. I’ve
been fighting them off for a couple hours. I get
one on the line and he wriggles out, or bites the
line. I even lost my best plunker.”
“Let me try pop.”
David took the gear, pulled
out a crawfish, dipped it in garlic juice and
baited the hook. Then he leaned back and cast it
out about thirty yards, between some lily pads.
“Careful son, you
might get tangled in the weeds there.”
“I know pop.”
David reeled in, swaying his rod from left to
right and back to left again, very slowly. Then
he stopped and jiggled the tip up and down.
Nothing yet. He began again, repeating the
swaying and pausing, jiggling the tip up and down.
When his cast returned to about fifteen yards out,
he sensed a nibble.
“I got a nibble pop.”
“Don’t jerk him
too fast, let him take the bait.”
“I know pop. I learned
from the best.”
Strike! Suddenly the fish
took the hook and began running out. Twenty,
thirty yards out, then darting back and forth,
trying to escape the hook. But David had him. He
set the hook and began reeling him in slowly,
keeping tension on the line so the fish couldn’t
get away.
“You got him son. How
big is it?”
The fish jumped out of the
water. It was a big one.
“Pop, I think we have
dinner tonight. Looks like a five pounder, at
least.”
David pulled the fish out
of the water, a largemouth bass. He put it on the
scale. Seven pounds even.
“Hey Ma! David got a
big one. Seven-pound largemouth bass.”
No answer.
“She’s probably
doing laundry pop. Go wash up and meet me in the
kitchen. I’ll make you dinner.”
“You bringing that
bass son?”
“You bet pop. Just
give me a minute to clean it.”
Tony went downstairs,
washed his hands and sat at the kitchen table.
“Ma, where are you?
David’s gonna fry up a fish for dinner.”
No answer.
David turned off the
PlayStation and joined his father in the kitchen.
He took out some fresh fish he brought from the
grocery.
“You cleaned it real
fine son. Good job.”
“Thanks pop. You
taught me how.”
David and his father had
dinner, then went to the living room. Tony always
got sleepy after dinner. As he was nodding off,
he turned to David.
“Where’s Ma, son?”
David cried a little.
“Probably doing laundry pop.”
“All right.” And
he fell asleep in his chair.
The
Old Fisherman by Jerry Guarino
Copyright June, 2019 – All Rights Reserved
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