The year is long, long ago before hitting my teens.
Sitting along the river bank watching low hanging branches being tugged at by the current during the spring run off would put my mind into a trance. The new spring sun brought warmth to my face while the mind wandered. At times the thoughts ran so deep that it would take an alarming motion or sound to bring the human vessel back to a state of reality. Sometimes the commotion would be a small landslide as the current would claim more soil from an undercut bank, or maybe it would be a tree on its way down that had no more earth to grab with its root system, but the best way to be woken from deep thought was the ringing of the bell clipped to the end of a fishing rod which was placed into the fork of a perfectly cut branch holding the rod upright while soaking a glob of crawlers, cut bait or grandma’s homemade dough balls on the end of the line. Who would have thought it was all leading up to a passion?
These were the days when a kid would be seen on weekends in our neighborhood riding a bike for all they were worth while carrying a bucket filled with tackle, lunch and sodas in one hand and a fist full of rods in the other. Amazing what we could carry as kids on a bike while peddling for the river.
With legs in motion and a face full of wind anticipation road high thinking of what could be. Maybe a battle with the biggest swimming whiskered critter you laid eyes on, possibly a mess of gills, maybe a tangle with a lunging, hissing snapper, maybe an encounter with a snake, coon, possum, deer or whatever may happen along the path leading to a favorite fishing hole. How many times will a kid be startled by flushing ducks from a puddle in the woods while there minds run wild? Almost every time!
There was always a great feeling of relief to arrive and see you were the first and had a favorite spot to yourself. The feeling however did not last long as the heart pumped a little quicker and adrenaline coursed through the veins while whittling a pointed end on a stick soon to be a rod holder with your handy dandy pocket knife, baiting up hooks and casting the offerings into turbulent waters near snags and deep holes. Ahhhh…your fishing now!
While bank side time slipped past in a hurry. Soon you would be skipping rocks across the water, one, two three…ya, a three skipper, gotta get four now were the thoughts while looking for another perfectly flat stone. School and parents (a kids troubles) slipped the mind and the imagination would roam rampant. The wheels would be turning painting pictures on the head marbles of just what might be swimming in the muddy waters looking for your baits. On such adventures there was no time to be bored. Like a weasel type critter, no rock would be left unturned checking to see what lived under them. Trees would be climbed using the height for a better view of what might be another spot to head for. But a good part of the time was just spent sitting, watching and listening while ma nature entertained during the down time between bites. After a full day river side then arriving home, there were times mom would grab the garden hose and hose off the mud before allowing entrance into the wash room. “Get your butt in the tub” were always the first words to hit the ears bringing my young life back to reality.
After being taught the ways of the river by Dad and getting trained on running the small boat it wasn’t long and my summers would be spent running the backwater sloughs and small lakes after Dad dropped me off and headed for work. This was a whole new world for this youngster and what a feeling of independence. These were the days before cell phones and Mom was totally against the decision to unleash her toddler but Dad eased her mind telling her it was time and her toddler was growing up. I believe my father seen the love for the river in my eyes and trusted I’d stay away from the main channel and avoid trouble and if by chance trouble found me, I’d find a way out of it.
The boat was a trump card and opened up a whole new world of fishing. Soon most the time was spent casting until the arms just wouldn’t do it anymore instead of just bottom fishing. At first there would not be much to show for the efforts, but as time was spent on the vast backwater world of the Mississippi, plus reading every fishing magazine my hands could get on, things started falling into place.
In no time there were favorite lures for Bass and Northern Pike being added to the old metal tackle box which was received from Grandma as a present. With lessons self taught the boat headed for current seams, deep water, Lily Pads, and Sunken Trees. With more and more time spent on the water there were an abundant number of favorite areas to fish and now Dad was reaping the rewards on weekends himself as he was chauffeured around from spot to spot. These are the adventures that make a boy feel like a young man while making your father proud of what you have learned and found.
Soon Dad was giving weekend lessons on the main channel and this youngster was on the way to yet a bigger playground.
Time was spent learning how to fish wing dams, troll current seams, pitch rip rap and so on. The fish being caught were getting bigger and the variety of species was unlimited. Going from the backwaters to the main channel alerted a new awareness of the surroundings. Larger boat traffic, barges, wing dams and channel markers were now being dealt with making for a boost in the testosterone levels of this young-un. Being allowed on the main channel was more important at the time than graduating high school. When the green light was received it felt like this young teen turned 40!
By age 15 in 1975 (rats sold for good ching) and money was being made trapping. This opened my eyes to another whole new world on Pool 8….winter on the river. Were not talking fish with Dad and the crowd stuff, were talking out and about 
But that’s a whole other story.
We often hear the saying “the good ole days” and these were the good ole days for myself. As we grow older our issues become bigger than “School and Parents”, hence the words from Mom and Dad as you grow up…”you don’t know how good you have it”!!! Now its kids of our own we worry about, finances, work, and whatever else we get involved in but there is one thing that has not changed for river rats or fishermen. Getting out on the water or ice is the best therapy for an over cluttered head.
For at least the last ten years most adventures have been made with great friends, a lot of them met and made through IDO. Even at an older pace from the younger day and when alone, my bean cap still wanders at times while becoming involved with a sight or sound. The waters have a calming effect, fishing has just become something to do while I visit it for the therapy 
And the Mighty Mrs. is forever a learning experience as it changes from year to year keeping things on a learning curve
Reminiscing through time while jotting this down put a tweak on my face more than once I’m a lucky Dude I thank my Parent’s for the introduction to the outdoors and I thank my at home family for putting up with me and enjoying it also!
Here’s to us all hooked on the outdoors and the person that brought us into this addiction 
Hope you didn’t get bored with my ramblings, if you made it this far I guess not 
Bret
Thank you Bret
old timer fill a bucket full of dinner plate sized 