The year was 1967; the location was High Point, NC. A skinny 13 year old boy who 40 some years later is known as Pop Pop, was getting ready for school. His mom finally heads out the door going to work after telling him not to ruin that brand new pair of blue jeans he was wearing.

Just like clockwork at 7:00 am I hear that familiar beep-beep of the horn on that old blue Volkswagen Beetle my uncle drove outside in the driveway. Now, my uncle was a family man who just couldn’t always get to work because he liked to fish too much. I grab my dollar my mom left me for lunch and headed out the door, because I knew I was laying out of school and going fishing.

Now, this ain’t the first time I have laid out of school to go fishing with my uncle, who was the only one who ever had time to take me fishing, so we had a routine. I jumped in and asked, “Where are we going today?” He said, “Let’s go to Ramey Creek and catch some brook trout.”

So we head up toward Low Gap. We got up the road a little ways, and he asked if I had any money. So I gladly pitch my dollar in for gas for the Beetle which took a whole two dollars and some change to fill up.

Now, we are set but broke. Now my uncle is a great guy but back then he had some responsibility issues about working and things a family man needs to be concerned about. We get to Ramey Creek and head up the creek. We used Panther Martins and Rooster tails with two of the hooks clipped off, so we could release the trout.

Now Ramey Creek as it ascends toward the Blue Ridge Parkway is pretty rugged, tumbling down over boulders, a true paradise. It was so rugged, one place we had to climb up a pine tree to get to the next pool. We spent the day there, caught a lot of little native brook trout, and then we started back down toward the bottom where we parked. Now just imagine what scooting down boulders, logs is going to do to a brand new pair of blue jeans.

We made it back to the Beetle and we were starved to death. After taking the back seats out, we found enough change to get a pack of Nabs and a bottle of pop which we split. That tasted as good as a steak dinner to me.

We made it back home, and he let me out. He didn’t have the guts to come in and face his older sister, my Mom, so I had to go it alone. I walked in and she said, “I figured you was with Bug, (my uncle’s nickname), and just look at your pants.” She just said, “You better start going to school and quit staying out fishing with Bug.”

For some reason I didn’t get that whipping I just knew was coming like so many times before. The whippings were worth it, and I loved to fish with my uncle Bug. I have so many more stories of our fishing trips, like the time we built a fire beside High Point City Lake and cooked fish on a stick because we hungry, and of course we didn’t have any money. That worked great until the park warden got to chasing us.

And the trip to Sparta Mill Pond near Sparta, NC. My mom, who has been gone for many years, would have celebrated her 77th birthday this past Sunday. My uncle Bug lives in Monroe now and has serious health issues. But I will always have those memories of our fishing trips.