The three Commanches

Over the past two weeks, my daughter Carol, her little girl and two young boys were visiting us from the Lone Star State. Over that time, I came to realize the wisdom of W. C. Fields, who once commented, “Ah yes children, I love em, provided they are well done.” I marvel that three small sets of lungs can set up such a din. Surely, no pack of  raiding Commanches could have ever raised such a howl.

When I took the boys, Matthew, seven, and Michael, four, out fishing, I cautioned them that loud talking would frighten the fish and cause them to become uncatchable. The only peace and quiet I could find was by sticking one or the other of the boys into the canoe.

The fishing results on the Delaware were poor. One Smallmouth Bass for Matthew and two for Michael. None of these would have pushed his nose past the eight-inch mark on a ruler. The river flow was quite low some evenings. One night above Basket Brook, I had to walk the canoe half way over to the New York bank before I found water deep enough to paddle in. This was due to the large volume of water being released from Lake Wallenpaupack. Due to these flows, the City of New York was able to cut back on the amount of water being released from the reservoirs while still meeting the criteria of 1750 cubic feet per second at the Montague gauge. The weed growth in this part of the river was greater than I have ever seen it. Large mats of weed could be seen protruding above the surface of the water.

Even though their success was meager, the boys enjoyed the fishing. They did complain about having to wear their life jackets all of the time. Now that Matthew has become a prolific reader he has discovered that, “a life jacket only needs to be in the boat for each person.” Grandpa had to explain that, while those were the river rules, mine were that they were to be worn always. Any whining was greeted with the statement, “Sympathy is down the hall.”

The last day they were here, I took them both out on a pond in Pennsylvania. Here they were elated with the fruits of their efforts. I took Michael out first and he caught seven sunfish in less than an hour. He then announced that he was “all tired out from fighting all those fish.” I put him ashore under the watchful eyes of his mother and grandmother. It was now Matthew’s turn. I paddled him over to the far side of the pond near a beaver house. Within minutes, Mr. or Mrs. Beaver appeared and slapped the water with its tail before diving from sight. The equipment the boys were using consisted of a seven-foot, one-weight fly rod with a small spinning reel taped to the handle with black electrician’s tape. Matthew’s nightcrawler and bobber had hardly hit the water before it was pulled under. Now, even a big sunfish will put quite a bend in this light rod and this fish did just that. Matthew had quite a struggle as he attempted to bring the fish along side the canoe. I reached out, seized the line in my hand and tried to quickly lift the fish into the boat. Yikes! This was no sunfish. Matt had been playing a Largemouth Bass a little better than a foot long. The fish objected strenuously to my attempt to lift him from the water. It gave a powerful shake of its head and, since I had the line in my hand, there was no cushioning effect of the limber rod. Snap went the monofilament line. Matthew consoled me by saying, “It’s all right Grandpa, the big ones always get away.” He then proceeded to catch as many sunfish as his little brother, which pleased him no end. Matthew could hardly wait to be paddled back to where the family waited, so that he could tell his story of the big one that got away.

The cabin seems eerily quiet now, however, the next wave from Texas arrives July 29. This will be my youngest daughter, Susan, along with college bound Megan and 10 year old Alyssa. You might recall how two years ago Alyssa caught the biggest Brook trout anyone in the family had ever caught. I guess it is time for Grandpa to go and buy some more nightcrawlers. As for yourself, what are you waiting for? Go fishing today.