He Was Always Ready To Go Fishin’

by Dale Grubaugh

Any other Wednesday evening I would have been at Smyrna Baptist Church for prayer meeting. But not this evening. My brother and I were takin our dad fishin’!

The date was Wednesday, August 22, 2012. As we were gettin ready, I smiled as I remembered the many Sunday mornin’s I had skipped church to go fishin’ with my Dad and here I was again, skippin’ church to go fishin with Dad.

But there was no guilt for this time it a special night. The three of us had not been fishin’ together for many a year and we all knew it would be the last opportunity we would ever have again.

Today was one of Dad’s good days.

He felt strong and acted most like his old self. And he was anxious to get goin’. However, as we rumbled and bumped down that old field road to get to the farm ponds which had always been one of his favorite fishin’ spots, I could see him wince with pain.

It was a memorable evening. We all caught fish. Not all of those fish were exactly whoppers. We laughed and teased one another — especially when we caught fish that were smaller than the lures we were using.

We had a grand time.

Memories filled my heart and mind that evening. We had fished in this spot many times through the years. One memory in particular was the mornin’ Dad caught his trophy bass.

A neighbor and I had camped the evening before at that fishin’ spot. We were awakened early the next morning to the sound of my Dad’s old Ford pickup rumbling up the road.

His pretense was to check on us boys as it had stormed the night before. However, since he was there he thought he might “throw a line or two in just to see if anything was bitin’.”

He had not been gone long when we heard him stomping through the brush back toward our campsite.

He was carryin’ one of the biggest large mouth bass I had ever seen — or that he had ever caught. Grinning from ear to ear Dad hurried on toward the truck with his prize fish. I asked if he was gonna stay and fish some more but he said he needed to get back to the house.

Back to the house, well, he woke everybody up to show them his fish and have pictures taken. Then, he hurried off to town to show anybody and everybody he could. He was that proud of that big old fish which, in fact, still hangs on the family room wall.

As the sun began to set that evening last August, the western sky was brilliant with evening colors.

The rays of the sun shot through a cloud hanging on the horizon like a great big hand. The bow of the boat we were paddling began to drift toward the west and Dad was suddently silhouetted against that gorgeous sky.

It looked as if he was being covered by the very hand of God. I sat mesmerized by the sight, wishing I had brought my camera. Regardless, the sight is forever etched in my mind.

"He was always ready to go fishin".

I had used those words at Dad’s funeral service just one month after our final fishin’ trip. And now, as I am going through his things, those words come rushing back. Out of his jacket pockets, I have pulled, plastic worms, crappie jigs, packages of hooks, a spool of fishin line, and bout a half dozen red and white bobbers….Yessir!

He was always ready to go fishin’.

’Till next time,

Elias Tucker

June 16, 2013