So Much Water Volume 1 Issue 3 Summer 2015 - Page 22

I picked up a few small ones to add to my purchases and made my way to the register to pay for my treasures. Driving to the fishing location, I began to daydream about my formative years watching one of the globes floating on the surface of our stock pond by some brush strategically placed by my dad in order to attract the fish we both loved to catch. Of course the real treat was when my mom would pull those same fish, less heads, guts, and scales, out of the cast iron skillet filled with hot shortening and served with hush puppies and fried potatoes. I began to drool just thinking of those times and the meal I was sure to have soon.

A few knots later, I made my first cast towards a couple of limbs I could see protruding from the surface of the water. With a “plop,” the bait began to sink and the bobber began to settle into position above the bait. I took up the slack in the line and settled back to wait for the action to begin.

It wasn’t long before the little red and white sphere began to dance up and down and to the right. I picked up the rod and waited for the bobber to disappear under the surface. When it did, I gave a tug and was soon rewarded with a nice hand-sized panfish. I removed the hook, placed him in the wire basket, and placed it in the water in front of me. The smile on my face lasted another couple of hours as I repeated the steps again and again until I had a nice basket of mouth watering fish flesh in the basket. I must have caught the entire school of Bluegill gathered around that brush, keeping only the largest of them and returning the rest to their home to grow and feed another angler in the future.

That night, we dined on Bluegill fillets, hush puppies, fried potatoes, and cole slaw. Afterwards, we relaxed in front of the television, but my mind was filled with memories of so many times in my life watching the dance of the little red and white bobber. The next morning, I recalled dreaming most of the night of dancing bobbers followed by fish after fish fighting at the end of my line.

If I only had a dollar for every time I have witnessed the dance of the little red and white bobber.