frequent catch was yellow perch, but bass was
common too. Grandpa Cowie was considered the expert. He was the kind of fellow who if you weren't catching anything and he was, he'd give you his pole all baited up and ready to go, take yours, drop the line over the side and catch a fish on your pole while you still couldn't get a bite. If you thought his side of the boat was better, he'd change sides with you and still be the one to pull in the fish.
Grandfather told me the rules every time just before the boat left the dock. They were: You will not whine to come back to shore, once the anchor has been dropped and the poles have been set. You will bait your own hook. You will sit still in the boat. All three rules were hard on me when I was a squirmy four, five or six year old. Doing my own bait was the hardest, especially if we were using frogs, which we did espicially if going for bass. Finding and catching the little buggers was fun the day before, but putting a sharp hook through their little... ooh, I can't even talk about it. I got used to worms even though they were slimy. I guess I didn't think them cute enough to feel bad about, and they weren't much fun to gather either, but I remember the process as if it were yesterday. After an afternoon rain, just as dusk became darkness, we took flashlights and prowled the grass bent over double to grab the little buggers before they wiggled down into their holes again.
I remember falling overboard one time while trying to wash the icky slime off my hands. I must have been pretty small.
I went out fishing less frequently as I grew older. Grandfather advised me not to learn how to clean fish, so I wouldn't have to. I took that advice to this day, but I still love fish for breakfast (Arlene).
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