Dad backed the Pontiac to the water’s edge. Laden with a Jon-boat sticking out of the trunk, it looked like we had been in a freakish accident. He quickly removed the bait bucket to lighten the load. The life vest he handed me looked the size of a wheelbarrow. I put it on anyway.
Dad slid the boat into the waters of Lake Lancaster. He took the oars and scooted us away from the shore. The feeling was eerie to this ten-year-old. To dad, it was just crappie “season”. Back then we didn’t realize crappie could be caught year-round. He just knew they were more active in Florida’s waters when it was cold.
He handed over a cane pole and said, “Sit on this”. Naturally, dad had to explain that the pole would be lost if I did not jam the handle between my leg and the metal seat. With four lines out, he began to row the boat. His system was a simple row, pause, and repeat. It was during these long pauses that we would get a strike. Those black crappies looked beautiful as he slid them down the yellow stringer.
Later, dad filleted the fish and stowed the boat as I hung the poles up in the barn. Dinner was special. Hushpuppies, coleslaw, and fried crappie adorned our table. It was December 31, 1968.
Happy New Year, -TJ Stallings
www.CrappieNow.com
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