PADUTCH-LIFE-L Archives

From: "Vee L. Housman" <>
Subject: 61-Going Fishing
Date: Sun, 27 Sep 1998 12:56:44 -0400

GOING FISHING

Did you ever go fishing? If you haven't let me tell you
something about it. The first thing, we make up our minds to go
fishing--and that doesn't take very long. Then we go to the house
and search all the stands and bureau drawers for fishing tackle. If it
can't be found at once in any of these drawers we can stir things
around a bit to see what shows up. Anyway, by that time your wife
will come and straighten things up again. Eventually we'll find a
rusty hook stuck in a cork with a fouled line wrapped around it. If
the worms have been already dug up, we can head for the creek.
We'll take the most direct road to the fishing hole--in fact we'd go
through fire if we knew it would save seconds in getting to the
fishing hole in time to catch a bite.

Finally, I'm at the creek with my hook and worm hanging in
the water waiting for a bite. If a fish doesn't bite immediately, no
worry, just a little while longer. If still no bites, we just wait some
more. Sooner or later I see a small, fighting-mad, hornchub, mouth
open and breathing with tubercular spasms. He takes the cork and
drags it under the water. I grab the rod and yank it upward. The
fish and the line fly up into the top of a sycamore. Since I only have
one line I have to climb up into the tree to free it. By the time I get
back down the chub has fallen to the ground. I put another worm
on the fishing hook, spit on it, and hang it into the creek again. I
begin my waiting--only longer this time. When I finally get tired
and settle down to rest, if the bait has the proper blend of chewing
tobacco spittle on it I am free to fall into a slumber.

I dream about sitting on a saddle and holding the reins of
Jonah's whale and riding him about the seas. When the mosquitoes
and ants finish feeding on me I'll wake up and watch the cork
running around under the water. I yank out the line again, and just
before I get a chance to land the fish the line breaks. Boy, that
must be some good-sized fish! Every time I think about the fish it
gets larger in my mind. By the time I get home it's about the size of
a door post. I take an alley to get home, because I feel like a
scolded dog. When I get home I tell about the bad luck I had with
a big fish, and by the time I'm done lying I will have said that I had
the fish out of the water but he just jumped back in again. A few
days later someone will catch a sunfish with a piece of my line and a
hook caught in its gullet.

That helps me to make up my mind never to go fishing again.
As the days pass sooner or later someone will drop by telling of
how well the suckers are biting, and in five minutes I'll be heading
down toward the creek to do the same thing all over again.

The fact is, the only definition I can give for fishing is: a
fishing pole with a hook and a line on one end, and a damn fool on
the other.

* * *

Note: This collection of Boonastiel stories was written by H.
A. Harter in the original Penna-Dutch dialect and were published in
the Keystone Gazette, Bellefonte, PA, between 1894 and 1904.
They were translated and transcribed by Bob James of Alaska and
they are being posted to this PADUTCH-LIFE mailing list with his
permission.

This thread:

• 61-Going Fishing by "Vee L. Housman" <>