So, there I was, loading my all my fishing gear into our aluminum boat, when grandpa walked onto the dock with a slight glimmer in his eye. He asked if he could go with me this time. Without hesitation, I said sure. He smiled as he said, “Let me get my gear.”
I was looking forward to using some of my new ‘birthday money funded’ tackle.
When he returned, I noticed he only carried an old, lime green, fibreglass, fishing rod and a matching metal tackle box. As he stepped into the boat, he placed his antique gear (at least it was to me) beside my huge 6 tiered tackle box. He whispered some kind of ‘smart’ comment about my gear under his breath and proceeded to laugh about it. I didn’t bother to ask him what he said. It was nice to have him along.
After we pulled away from the dock I asked him where he wanted to go. As if anticipating my question, he suggested we look for a shoal that he had not trolled over for many years. He pointed to a general direction across the lake and I cranked the throttle on my 15 HP Evinrude.
“I don’t recall exactly where it is but I will tell you when to stop.” he said.
I remember thinking that this could get very interesting…
Sure enough, after a few minutes, he told me to slow down. His eyes were double checking some points on the the shore and correlating them with some points from an old memory.
The fact that we were in middle of lake did not seem to worry him.
“Let’s troll here.” he said as he reached for his tackle box. When the lid flipped over in his box. I laughed inside. All he had was a rusty Williams Wobbler that would would run shallow in the depths I thought we were in. He snapped it onto his aged leader and casted behind the boat to start his troll.
I reciprocated his tackle selection by opening up my tackle box and picking out a large-lipped, Sinking, chartreuse Rapala and casted behind the boat. I left the shallow running spoon section closed in my box. This lure was going to go deep because I ‘knew’, at these depths, a spoon would not cut it.
That’s when the lesson began.
Grandpa started moving his fishing rod back and forth at random intervals.
“The fish will strike the lure when my rod is moving toward the back of the boat”, he said. Intrigued, I started doing the same thing.
Suddenly, it hit hard and fast. That old shoal grabbed a hold of my lure and did not let go, Within seconds my line had snapped and the smell of reel grease permeated the air. An expensive birthday lure was now lost to the lurking shallows of a hidden shoal. Grandpa started laughing and started to bring in his line.
“I should check it for weeds”, he said
His spoon only had a small weed fragment on it. Like it had just grazed the tops of the weeds on his shoal. He looked at little disappointed.
“It seems to be shallower than I remember”, he exclaimed.
I swear he was trying to rub it in.
After he had casted his line out again, I opened my tackle box and meekly put on a Williams Wobbler. Grandpa continued to show me some trolling techniques over his shoal. We did not catch any fish but it was time well spent. Several years later I returned to the general area with a fish finder.
I have yet to find Grandpa’s shoal.
