The Pond
About 5 miles from our farm was a place called 'tractor pond'. An old iron bridge crossed the pond and the narrow dirt road led on to a river and another old iron bridge. The pond was quite large, and deep in places. Like one end of the bridge where a tractor slid over the bank and into the pond. It totally disappeared under water. No one tried to get it out.
One end of the pond was a large area of swampland, which drained into the pond. The other end of the pond drained out and into the river farther off. When the river flooded so did the pond. Some great fishing could be had there.
Dad dearly loved fishing for largemouth bass. Big brother Ike didn't like fishing much so dad did his best to teach me the art of casting a bass lure to a point exactly where I wanted it to land. At home, dad had me place a short piece of 2x4 on the ground, back off a distance and cast a line with a lead weight at the board, hour after hour. Not to brag but I got very good at it. From different distances, using dad's old steel casting rod mounted with a Pflueger Akron casting reel that he gave me, I could plop my weighted line down near either side of the board or on it if so desired. I still have the reel, in good working condition. A fond momento of better days.
So, on those rare summer evenings when work was caught up, dad and I would sneak off to our pond hidaway and fish for bass until dark. It would take too many fish to feed our family of 8 so we released them back into the pond. I've never seen dad so relaxed and happy as during those stolen moments on 'our' pond.
The pond
The pond
On one evening at the pond, I was using a fly rod. I didn't feel much like walking the bank and casting, so I just stood at one end of the bridge dabbing a tiny fly lure near some old pilings in the water. A small bluegill snatched the lure. I played him a bit before hauling him up to be released.
Before I could bring up the hapless bluegill, there was a roiling splash and a horrific tug on my line as my rod bowed to near the breaking point. A nice bass had made lunch of the little bluegill. And the fight was on.
Not only did I have to keep Mr. Bass from winding my line around the old bridge pilings, but I had to hope the thin leader line held. My heart was thumping wildly as I did my best to steer Mr. Bass away from the pilings he so desperately wanted to reach.
A few other guys were fishing at the pond that evening. Seeing my struggle, they came over to watch. Dad, hearing the splashing and people shouting advice, made his way to the end of the bridge where I was doing battle. Soon he was down the steep bank to the waters edge. I steered the now tiring bass over to where he could grab my line and hoist Mr. Bass out of the water. A nice 4 pounder. The onlookers let out a groan as dad unhooked and released the bass. It was the largest bass I ever caught at the pond.
Before I could bring up the hapless bluegill, there was a roiling splash and a horrific tug on my line as my rod bowed to near the breaking point. A nice bass had made lunch of the little bluegill. And the fight was on.
Not only did I have to keep Mr. Bass from winding my line around the old bridge pilings, but I had to hope the thin leader line held. My heart was thumping wildly as I did my best to steer Mr. Bass away from the pilings he so desperately wanted to reach.
A few other guys were fishing at the pond that evening. Seeing my struggle, they came over to watch. Dad, hearing the splashing and people shouting advice, made his way to the end of the bridge where I was doing battle. Soon he was down the steep bank to the waters edge. I steered the now tiring bass over to where he could grab my line and hoist Mr. Bass out of the water. A nice 4 pounder. The onlookers let out a groan as dad unhooked and released the bass. It was the largest bass I ever caught at the pond.
The pond
On fishing
January 27, 2009 @ 03:06:04 pm
One saturday morning in the early spring of my 9th or 10th year, dad and gramps left for town in the truck. Big brother Ike was in the garage getting both tractors ready for field work. I was helping, wherever I could. After they had gone, Ike fished a quart bottle of warm beer from behind the tool boxes. " Last one hop. Find a clean coffee can and I'll split it with ya". We saved all our empty coffee cans, glass jars with the lids and all manner of items, so I was soon sipping the warm bitter bubbly liquid from a fairly clean can.
A few hours later dad and gramps came chugging up the lane into the yard. The truck had an odd assortment of boards in the back. I went to help unload asking what was this for. Gramps answered, "it's a boat, what in hell's it look like"? And that was the beginning of many a happy hours spent on the water.
Dad and gramps went to work on the boat early the very next morning. I was amazed at how they could work without plans or blueprints. They wrote measurements down on paper, cut lumber, drilled holes to bolt rib pieces together and in a few days, a beautiful jon boat was ready for caulking and paint. Back then, good wood was still easily obtainable. The ribs were redwood, the rest cypress. No plywood whatsoever. Dad bought some dark green boat paint and gave me the job of painting it. Angel wanted in on the painting. We gave it two coats, inside and out. When they dried, dad filled the boat part way with water to swell the seams tight. Then came launching day. Dad, gramps and Ike got it on the truck and off we went to the pond.
At some point an old Evinrude 1 1/2 H.P. outboard motor was aquired. It was perfect for that pond. It would idle down to barely moving and throttle up to about as fast as a man could row.
One afternoon stands out in my memory. Gramps and I were fishing by ourselves. I was in the stern running the motor and gramps was on the bow. I ran in close to the bank under a low hanging tree branch, knocking a huge black snake off his perch and into the boat. That's the moment all hell broke loose. Gramps, near as afraid of snakes as lil' brother Daryl, grabbed up the canoe paddle and started wildly wacking at the snake, shouting the whole time. I cut the motor and drew my bare feet up so snake wouldn't go up my pant leg. Snake was thrashing frantically, looking for a way out of this crazy place. Gramps was yelling, hitting everything but the snake, with his paddle. I was fearing for my life when gramps hit my big toe a mighty wack, breaking it. That was enough. Despite the pain in my toe, I went over the side, along with the snake. Gramps sat down breathing hard from his workout. When we got home dad asked "hop, why ya wet and limping"?
Another time dad and Angel were fishing together. She was still using my casting rod and reel and was not quite up to par yet on her casting. Dad was running the motor, Angel was on the mid seat. She rared back to make a cast, snagged dad's hat with her bass lure and cast it out into the pond.
We kept our boat chained and padlocked to a tree at the pond but took our motor home each time. One day while getting ready to go out in the boat, some other guys were fishing at the pond. One came over and asked dad if the boat was for sale. They haggled awhile ending in the sale of not only the boat but the motor too. I was crushed. But, before that summer was over, dad and gramps built another boat even better. Best yet, dad got a 5 HP outboard motor that ran great. We had that boat and motor for a number of years, until after I left home. Then it was sold too.
January 27, 2009 @ 03:06:04 pm
One saturday morning in the early spring of my 9th or 10th year, dad and gramps left for town in the truck. Big brother Ike was in the garage getting both tractors ready for field work. I was helping, wherever I could. After they had gone, Ike fished a quart bottle of warm beer from behind the tool boxes. " Last one hop. Find a clean coffee can and I'll split it with ya". We saved all our empty coffee cans, glass jars with the lids and all manner of items, so I was soon sipping the warm bitter bubbly liquid from a fairly clean can.
A few hours later dad and gramps came chugging up the lane into the yard. The truck had an odd assortment of boards in the back. I went to help unload asking what was this for. Gramps answered, "it's a boat, what in hell's it look like"? And that was the beginning of many a happy hours spent on the water.
Dad and gramps went to work on the boat early the very next morning. I was amazed at how they could work without plans or blueprints. They wrote measurements down on paper, cut lumber, drilled holes to bolt rib pieces together and in a few days, a beautiful jon boat was ready for caulking and paint. Back then, good wood was still easily obtainable. The ribs were redwood, the rest cypress. No plywood whatsoever. Dad bought some dark green boat paint and gave me the job of painting it. Angel wanted in on the painting. We gave it two coats, inside and out. When they dried, dad filled the boat part way with water to swell the seams tight. Then came launching day. Dad, gramps and Ike got it on the truck and off we went to the pond.
At some point an old Evinrude 1 1/2 H.P. outboard motor was aquired. It was perfect for that pond. It would idle down to barely moving and throttle up to about as fast as a man could row.
One afternoon stands out in my memory. Gramps and I were fishing by ourselves. I was in the stern running the motor and gramps was on the bow. I ran in close to the bank under a low hanging tree branch, knocking a huge black snake off his perch and into the boat. That's the moment all hell broke loose. Gramps, near as afraid of snakes as lil' brother Daryl, grabbed up the canoe paddle and started wildly wacking at the snake, shouting the whole time. I cut the motor and drew my bare feet up so snake wouldn't go up my pant leg. Snake was thrashing frantically, looking for a way out of this crazy place. Gramps was yelling, hitting everything but the snake, with his paddle. I was fearing for my life when gramps hit my big toe a mighty wack, breaking it. That was enough. Despite the pain in my toe, I went over the side, along with the snake. Gramps sat down breathing hard from his workout. When we got home dad asked "hop, why ya wet and limping"?
Another time dad and Angel were fishing together. She was still using my casting rod and reel and was not quite up to par yet on her casting. Dad was running the motor, Angel was on the mid seat. She rared back to make a cast, snagged dad's hat with her bass lure and cast it out into the pond.
We kept our boat chained and padlocked to a tree at the pond but took our motor home each time. One day while getting ready to go out in the boat, some other guys were fishing at the pond. One came over and asked dad if the boat was for sale. They haggled awhile ending in the sale of not only the boat but the motor too. I was crushed. But, before that summer was over, dad and gramps built another boat even better. Best yet, dad got a 5 HP outboard motor that ran great. We had that boat and motor for a number of years, until after I left home. Then it was sold too.
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Clodhopper
- Posts: 5115
- Joined: Mon Feb 25, 2008 5:11 pm
The pond
I never really knew my grandpa. He was a Captain in the Royal Artillery (I think) in World War One, and there was a portrait of him in uniform hanging above the stairs. He died when I was under ten years old and I only have a memory of a bristly grey moustache and the beautiful house he had in Esher, overlooking fields and woods, and with a badger sett in the bottom of the garden. All built over now. He was a wealthy man, an engineer who invented (amongst other things) one of the early petrol pumps - Beckmeter, I believe they were called. You still occasionally saw them in remote areas when I was a kid.
Anyway, he also bought a house in Devon in the 1920's and designed a 20' half-cabin boat for Bass fishing off the coast. She was built in a local yard and named Garda after my Dad and Aunt - Garth and Daphne. Nothing to do with the Irish police! He was very old by the time we kids appeared on the scene, so handed over house, boat and all to Dad. Dad was a very skilled boatman and fisherman. One the local fishermen respected and acknowledged as having a right to the good fishing spots if he was on them first. Though Dad always gave up the spot if the pro's turned up, saying it was their living, but just fun to him.
One of the best spots when the tide was ebbing was right up under the cliffs on the sand-bar which crosses the mouth of the Salcombe Estuary. Only catch is that in those conditions the waves become very steep. The boat would be barely moving as we went through the swell, and the waves would steepen as they hit the bar and you, sitting in the boat, would be looking UP at the waves which appeared to be about to crash into the boat, swamp it, and throw us onto the rocks. It never happened of course. He knew exactly what he was doing. But I had several heart attacks!
Anyway, he also bought a house in Devon in the 1920's and designed a 20' half-cabin boat for Bass fishing off the coast. She was built in a local yard and named Garda after my Dad and Aunt - Garth and Daphne. Nothing to do with the Irish police! He was very old by the time we kids appeared on the scene, so handed over house, boat and all to Dad. Dad was a very skilled boatman and fisherman. One the local fishermen respected and acknowledged as having a right to the good fishing spots if he was on them first. Though Dad always gave up the spot if the pro's turned up, saying it was their living, but just fun to him.
One of the best spots when the tide was ebbing was right up under the cliffs on the sand-bar which crosses the mouth of the Salcombe Estuary. Only catch is that in those conditions the waves become very steep. The boat would be barely moving as we went through the swell, and the waves would steepen as they hit the bar and you, sitting in the boat, would be looking UP at the waves which appeared to be about to crash into the boat, swamp it, and throw us onto the rocks. It never happened of course. He knew exactly what he was doing. But I had several heart attacks!
The crowd: "Yes! We are all individuals!"
Lone voice: "I'm not."
Lone voice: "I'm not."
The pond
That's a great memory. I pity the kids of today. They will never get to experience some of these things.
The pond
Clodhopper;1320552 wrote: I never really knew my grandpa. He was a Captain in the Royal Artillery (I think) in World War One, and there was a portrait of him in uniform hanging above the stairs. He died when I was under ten years old and I only have a memory of a bristly grey moustache and the beautiful house he had in Esher, overlooking fields and woods, and with a badger sett in the bottom of the garden. All built over now. He was a wealthy man, an engineer who invented (amongst other things) one of the early petrol pumps - Beckmeter, I believe they were called. You still occasionally saw them in remote areas when I was a kid.
Anyway, he also bought a house in Devon in the 1920's and designed a 20' half-cabin boat for Bass fishing off the coast. She was built in a local yard and named Garda after my Dad and Aunt - Garth and Daphne. Nothing to do with the Irish police! He was very old by the time we kids appeared on the scene, so handed over house, boat and all to Dad. Dad was a very skilled boatman and fisherman. One the local fishermen respected and acknowledged as having a right to the good fishing spots if he was on them first. Though Dad always gave up the spot if the pro's turned up, saying it was their living, but just fun to him.
Anyway, one of the best spots when the tide was ebbing was right up under the cliffs on the sand-bar which crosses the mouth of the Salcombe Estuary. Only catch is that in those conditions the waves become very steep. The boat would be barely moving as we went through the swell, and the waves would steepen as they hit the bar and you, sitting in the boat, would be looking UP at the waves which appeared to be about to crash into the boat, swamp it, and throw us onto the rocks. It never happened of course. He knew exactly what he was doing. But I had several heart attacks!
That is a great memory
Anyway, he also bought a house in Devon in the 1920's and designed a 20' half-cabin boat for Bass fishing off the coast. She was built in a local yard and named Garda after my Dad and Aunt - Garth and Daphne. Nothing to do with the Irish police! He was very old by the time we kids appeared on the scene, so handed over house, boat and all to Dad. Dad was a very skilled boatman and fisherman. One the local fishermen respected and acknowledged as having a right to the good fishing spots if he was on them first. Though Dad always gave up the spot if the pro's turned up, saying it was their living, but just fun to him.
Anyway, one of the best spots when the tide was ebbing was right up under the cliffs on the sand-bar which crosses the mouth of the Salcombe Estuary. Only catch is that in those conditions the waves become very steep. The boat would be barely moving as we went through the swell, and the waves would steepen as they hit the bar and you, sitting in the boat, would be looking UP at the waves which appeared to be about to crash into the boat, swamp it, and throw us onto the rocks. It never happened of course. He knew exactly what he was doing. But I had several heart attacks!
That is a great memory
Very nearly perfect ... 
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Clodhopper
- Posts: 5115
- Joined: Mon Feb 25, 2008 5:11 pm
The pond
Have just been checking up on Beckmeter (which I've never done before), and it turns out it wasn't my grandad who designed it. Now I'm confused! Family tradition definitely has him involved somewhere, but information is a bit scanty.
The crowd: "Yes! We are all individuals!"
Lone voice: "I'm not."
Lone voice: "I'm not."