I finally had to do it. I’m gonna have to file for semi-permanent disability. And the person to blame for it is my near-life-long New Mexico buddy, ol’ Albie Kirkie.
Albie visited for his semi-annual short-week of fine fishing in the Flint Hills and by the time he left this morning, I hurt all over. Let me share all my ailments with you. I’ve got BMS (Bass Mouth Syndrome) which has my left thumb pained and permanently disfigured; I have AKAJS (Achy Knuckles And Joints Syndrome) which makes it painful to both walk and sit down; I’m also now suffering from FHSAS (Fish Hook Stabs and Scabs) which pains me to shut my fist and to type this column.
Not only that my pickup truck smells like a fish monger’s arm pit and I fear that no amount of air freshener will restore it to the pleasant scent pine trees.
All the above is another way to say we had a great week of fishing together and reminiscing about adding another chapter to our book of good times together.
Plus, I got a great story to include in that chapter.
I hate to mention it, but I have proof that ol’ Albie is losing it … by “it” I mean a stringer full of “my” fish. I left Albie alone on the best fishing shore of a great pond, and left a stringer full of fine bass that I’d caught with him for safe keeping from the persistently hungry turtles.
Alas, when I returned from the other side of the pond with another stringer full of bass, ol’ Albie contritely explained how he untied “my” stringer of fish to add one of his tiny bluegill to it, and then “fergot” to attach the stringer to anything and simply watched the whole stringer of fish swim slowly out into the deep beyond and into oblivion.
However, since we’re life-long buds and I love him like a deficient little brother, I forgave him entirely and promised to never divulge the mishap … which is why I’m sharing the story with just “you.”
All in all, we had a heckuva good week of casting’ and retrievin’ in the Flint Hills, made all the better that I caught the biggest bass, the biggest catfish, and introduced Albie to a long-forgotten live bait — the big, white, tough horsefly grub — which the channel catfish in one pond seemed to think wuz fish candy. I hadn’t fished with those grubs since I wuz a kid, but my compost pile wuz full of them, so I decided to give ‘em a try, and I’m glad I did.
At least Albie had the compensatory reward of an ice chest full of tasty fish fillets to take home with him to the moutains, which he and his family can smack their lips over for a few months.
I’ve a couple other odd stories to relate about fishing this week. One, I had a catfish take one of those horsefly grubs and go under a rock. I had to break the line to keep fishing, but the cork and a length of line wuz still attached to the fish. Well, in a few minutes, the fish got free and started swimming around and you could trace it movements by watching the cork. Eventually, the fish swam close enuf to the bank that I cast a line over the cork and, lo and behold, I hooked the cork with my line. I couldn’t pull hard but I carefully worked the fish close to the bank and almost could grab the line. Alas, the catfish spooked and pulled the line free of the cork. So, in the end, I lost both fish and cork.
At another pond, some old dry cord grass wuz occupying the spot where I wanted to sit down. So, stupidly, a grabbed a handful of grass to break it off, but when I pulled to break it, I sliced one of my fingers deeply with a “grass cut.” The danged finger bled like a stuck hog and I tied a strip of handkerchief around it to stem the blood flow. Luckily, it wuz Albie to the rescue as he had bandaids in his emergency kit to do a more tidy job of fixing me up. However, that “grass cut” wuz a nuisance all week.
One more thing happened. On the first day of fishing, one of my big tooth fillings gave up the ghost and simply fell out of its tooth. So, I had to interrupt the fishing long enuf for an emergency “refilling” by my dentist, ol‘ Picken Driller.
And, on the last day of fishing, we were joined by my grandson, Noah Yield, and we dodged scattered showers all afternoon. However, we pushed our luck about 10 minutes too long and got drowned by a cloudburst while we loaded up to skedaddle the premises.
And, thanks to my good friend, Allis, from the Columbia Basin in Washington state for these random thoughts about aging:
I don’t trip and stumble over things … I do gravity checks!
When I was a child I thought “nappy time” was a punishment … now, as a grown up, it just feels like a small vacation!
The biggest lie I tell myself is … “I don’t need to write that down, I’ll remember it.”
I don’t have gray hair. I have “wisdom highlights” and I’m very wise.
My people skills are just fine. It’s my tolerance for idiots that needs work.
The grandkids text me “plz” which is shorter than please. I text back “no” which is shorter than “yes.”
Even Duct tape can’t fix stupid … but it can muffle the sound!
Of course I talk to myself, sometimes I need expert advice.
That’s enuf wisdom for the week. You have a good ‘un.