In maybe 2002 or so, my brother Joe came out to visit us in Arizona. He was over one night and Phil was grilling while Joe and TJ were fishing. Phil cut a piece of fat off one of the steaks, and Joe put it on his hook. Then he took the pole and propped it through the slats on the bench...Phil told him he was going to lose the pole if a fish came along and grabbed the bait, but Joe didnt listen. Sure enough, about 30 seconds after he walked away from the pole, a catfish came along and snagged the fat. Phil yelled, and TJ watched in horror as his fishing pole was launched into the lake. He was FURIOUS with my brother, just hopping mad, telling him you never left your pole like that, etc. He was just reading Joe the riot act, and Phil was laughing his ass off. Joe promised him a new pole ~ lol, he actually gave him an ice fishing pole when we came back to Michigan that summer (easy to do...found out later that it was my brother Barrys pole, not Joes) then did buy him a new one. So about two weeks later, TJ was pacing back and forth along the edge of the lake ~ when I close my eyes it is one of the easiest images of him for me to visualize, because he ALWAYS walked slowly along the edges of the lakes, looking for fish ~ when some neighbors pedaled by in their pedal-boat. He hollered at them and pointed three-quarters of the way across the lake, maybe 200 feet away, and asked them to grab the bobber because he said his fishing pole was attached to it. Sure enough, they pulled it up and his pole was on the end of the line! I can still picture him leaning casually against the fence while they pedaled over, pulled it up, then brought it over to him. I am still amazed that he recognized that it was HIS bobber way over there.
Posted on: Mon, 05 Jan 2015 16:06:05 +0000
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