June 8, 2007

Take a Kid Fishing

Adults in St. Paul Minnesota adults may fish without a license this weekend if they take along a child under the age of 16. This sounds a bit disturbing to me in a "Hey, kid, wanna bait my hook?" kind of way, but it's all part of "Take a Kid Fishing Weekend" sponsored by the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources. Keeper Husband can tell you how much fun it is to take a kid fishing.

Keeper is an enthusiastic fisherman and when we got married, he was delighted to have two stepsons to take out with him. Unfortunately, they weren't having any of it. First of all, you have to sit still in the boat. Second, you're not supposed to talk or you'll scare the fish away. You try talking two adolescent boys into this deal, even with a cooler full of snacks and permission to relieve themselves over the side of the boat.

One Saturday morning Keeper was loading up the car with tackle for a day of fishing. I noticed he had four life vests in the trunk. "Are the boys going?" I asked, bracing for a full day of whining.

"They're not only going, they're eager. They're out digging worms right now," he said.

"How did you do that?" I asked.

"It's a secret," he said as he threw a bright red-and-white bobber in the tackle box.

Our favorite fishing spot was inside the grounds of the prison where Keeper was a counselor. There was a limestone quarry there from back in the days when they literally made prisoners break rocks all day. In our day, it was filled with water and stocked with bass and bluegill. There was a leaky rowboat there for general use and a guard tower with a shotgun-toting marksman watching over us. It was quite the romantic spot.

We unloaded the fishing gear, put on our life preservers and climbed into the boat. Because we'd been there before, we had brought a coffee can for bailing, which was my job.

I noticed that the boys were in a race to get their hooks baited. Even before we had rowed to the optimum spot, they had their nets in the water, trawling for fish. When we reached the reeds where the fish tended to congregate, their poles were in the water before the boat had stopped drifting.

"I got one!" Jason shouted, pulling in a 3-inch minnow.

"It's too small," said his stepfather, leaving out the fact that the "fish" was about half the size of the bait.

"It still counts!" cried Jason, dropping it into a waiting bucket of water and baiting his hook again.

His brother Tom was concentrating on a particular spot when he got a bite. He pulled in a nice 7-inch bluegill that put up a good fight. It was a legal catch, and promised good eating.

Meanwhile, Jason was flinging dinky little fish into the bucket right and left. "I'm winning!" he said gleefully.

"Uh oh," said Keeper.

I suddenly got the picture. To spur the boys' interest in fishing, he had offered prize money for the most fish caught. He hadn't specified a minimum size. This loophole allowed Jason, who was highly motivated to win by a Radio Shack shopping habit, to rake in the $5 prize money.

Tom, who had caught the biggest fish, won $5 as well due to a last-minute change in the rules.

And I, First Mate and Chief Bailer, won the "Pollo de la Mar" award for insisting on going back to shore when my bladder was full.