We were the first 30 minutes into our trip to the beach. The boys were in the back of the van reading and talking. To keep my driving interesting, I challenged Cowgrit to a game of Travel Alphabet.

Both of us immediately called out A and B, seeing the letters on the car license plate ahead of us. Hmm. This ain’t gonna work right. So I suggested we need to just use one side of the road each.

She was in full agreement that she get the right side of the highway, the side with all the road signs, and I got the left side, the side with all the backs of street signs.

“Oh crap,” I said when I realized the serious handicap I was getting.

“A, B, . . . C,” she said within a couple of seconds, getting letters off the big, clear, and numerous road signs.

Well, I’m not one to back out of a game just because I start out with bad positioning. I rose to the challenge and started looking for something on my side of the highway.

Across the median, there were many tractor-trailer trucks going the opposite direction. Most of them had company names, slogans, and other big writing on them. I managed to get a few letters off them.

Then I slowed down to a couple miles an hour below the speed limit. This let vehicles pass me in the left lane. I managed to pick out more letters from the lisence plates. I don’t mind arriving at our destination 5 minutes late if it lets me win a game. Of course, I didn’t let on to Cowgrit I was doing this. She’d rather arrive on time or early than let me win a game. She’s so selfish like that.

Pretty quickly, I managed to pass Cowgrit’s alphabet count. In fact, I blew past her like she wasn’t even trying. Within 20 minutes, I reached Z before she got K.

“Ha! I win!” I exclaimed.

“Good,” she said, “I can take a nap, now.”

She closed her eyes and laid her head back.

Hmm. Well, I still won.

Bullgrit

Continued from earlier.

We went to the Scout outing as a threesome, while Cowgrit went out with her mom. Turned out that the first half hour of the event consisted of experienced fishers talking and explaining the general points of fishing. They showed how to tie proper line knots (something I needed to relearn), how to cast and reel (something I needed to relearn), and how to handle the fish on the line (something I needed to relearn).

Unfortunately, Calfgrit4 just didn’t have the patience to put up with the teaching part of the fishing outing. He was a constant distraction for me, and then he got hungry for a snack. I had to take him back to our van to retrieve the crackers and water. I missed the instruction on handling the reel.

This reel on both boys’ new rod was different than the one I grew up using, and oddly, neither came with an instruction manual. So when we finally got to get to fishing, I had to learn the reels’ secrets in a trial by frustration.

I ended up calling Cowgrit away from her errands to come help me with the boys. My stress level lowered with her there. I could concentrate on figuring out how to cast with this new reel while she entertained CG4. I eventually got everything working properly.

We had big ol’ fat nightcrawlers for bait. I had forgotten how really nasty baiting hooks with live, squiggly, slimy worms is. It’s truly disgusting. And Calfgrit8 didn’t want to deal with it at all, because he didn’t like the idea of skewering a friendly little worm on a hook, drowning it in water, and feeding it to a fish.

Cowgrit has indirectly taught the boys that worms are nice and friendly — they help a garden to flourish — and they’ve many times played with worms in a happy way. So it was a little unnerving for them to torture and kill the things.

And then it started raining. It went from a light drizzle to a hard downpour in less than five minutes. We all grabbed our gear and ran back to the van, but we weren’t fast enough to avoid getting completely drenched. Ironically, the rain stopped completely by the time we got home (less than five minutes).

In our short time fishing the lake, we caught no fish, but we did loose a worm a couple of times. Calfgrit8 did reel in a stick, though, and CG4 told everyone we met about the stick catch. Fortunately, CG8 thought the stick was hilarious, and so was not bothered by his little brother passing the story around to everyone.

But let me tell you, the stick was at least this big.

Bullgrit

Continued from yesterday. Well, with my reminiscing out of the way, let me tell you about my boys’ first fishing experience.

Originally, I was intending to take only Calfgrit8 to this Cub Scout fishing event. Fishing is something that requires patience, and learning fishing takes attention. Calfgrit4 just doesn’t yet have these skills — no 4 year old has them.

But Calfgrit4 was so interested in, and looking forward to the event, that I let myself be talked into including him (I couldn’t bring myself to tell him he couldn’t come with us; it would’ve broken his heart). Last week, we all went to Wal-Mart and picked out a couple of rods and reels — a 5-foot rig with an included tackle box and gear for CG8, and little 2-foot rig for CG4.

Saturday morning (the first chance I got) I set up both rigs. I ran the string down the rod and tied on a float and sinker for both, and tied on a hookless lure to CG4’s rig, and a basic hook (for live bait) to CG8’s rig. CG8 watched me do this, and he listened well as I explained how it all worked. I especially made sure he knew and understood about the hook. The whole while, CG4 was excited and wanting my attention and to fling his rod and line about the house. Yeah, this wasn’t boding well.

I love the little guy, but I was really concerned about going through this first experience with him along. If he was a little older, and if I could give him all my attention the event could be fun. (Or if I wasn’t going to be handling it alone.) But having to relearn some things, myself, and having to teach CG8 everything he needs to know, while having CG4 crave my attention and want to get right into the action of fishing (now there’s a contradictory phrase), I feared this could end up a catastrophe.

My biggest fear was that someone would end up with a hook in some extremity. Both Calfgrits were impressed with my story of catching a seagull, and I didn’t want them to try to out do me by one of them catching a sibling or father.

To be continued.

Bullgrit

Calfgrit8’s Cub Scout pack had a fishing day planned for this past Saturday. Both our boys were looking forward to it for nearly two weeks, but I was feeling strangely apathetic about it.

I haven’t been fishing in around 25 years. It was a regular part of my youth: saltwater fishing off the pier at the beach, freshwater fishing from shore or boat in a lake. I had my own fishing rod and reel — oddly, a left-handed rig (I’m right handed in all other things) — and I knew how to handle it and take care of it. But that was a long time ago, seemingly in a previous life.

The most regular fishing memories I have is fishing off a pier in the Atlantic with my maternal grandparents. Baiting two hooks (upper and lower) with shrimp, casting the pyramidal lead weight out into the waves, waiting patiently for the tug of a fishing biting, and reeling in the catch.

I also remember some ocean and lake fishing with my dad, river fishing once or twice with my paternal grandparents (with cane poles), and some small-pond fishing with friends. All catches were for eating, and it was years after I had last fished that I heard of the concept of “catch and release” (unless the catch was too small to eat).

Even though I fished a lot in the ocean, I don’t remember pulling in any really big catches. I’ve seen others pull in sharks, a manta ray, and some big fish that I don’t know what they were. I always wanted to fight some big monster, but it just never happened.

The only exceptional catch I ever landed (and I love telling this when people are relating fish tales) is my catch of a seagull. Yeah, a seagull.

I was fishing with my dad off the ocean pier. I baited my hooks with shrimp, then held my rod aloft for a grand cast, and threw it out.

Seagulls were regular fixtures of the ocean pier. Many were always flying about or hovering in the wind, and you had to be mindful of laying your bait around unattended. If you set down a piece of shrimp and then turned away to get something, it wasn’t unusual for a gull to swoop in and snatch a snack.

As my bait, weight, and line flew out in a high arc over the waves, a seagull swooped in on the hooked shrimp. The bird plucked the snack out of the air, but its wings got tangled in the fishing line. Down the bird went into the water, all tangled and flapping and crying out.

I reeled in the bird as a bunch of people on our side of the pier looked on at the strange situation. With my dad advising, I reeled the bird on up out of the water and up the twenty feet to the side of the pier. Other fishers came up to help get the bird onto the pier and restrained.

It took three grown men to hold the seagull still — it was panicked and tried to flap, claw, and bite at any hands that got close to it. But it was terribly tangled in the line, and every panicked move just made things worse.

Eventually, though, after many minutes, the men got the line unwrapped and the hooks removed (neither were in the bird’s throat, fortunately). Once finished, everyone stepped back quickly and let the bird go. It leaped up and cried and jumped away. It took to the air and flew out over the water, hopefully with enough of a lesson to never again go for flying bait.

When other fishers start telling their stories about big catches, and the bigger ones that got away, I really like tossing out this story. After all these years, I’ve never found a fisher who’s seen firsthand or heard about anyone catching a seagull. It’s my own unique fishing experience. And yes, for the record, it is really true (no wink or nod).

To be continued tomorrow.

Bullgrit