For those who know me or who have at least read through my blog entries, it is well known that I have long battled with an overpowering tendency to allow fishing to be a completely self indulgent addiction. I've found it difficult from time to time to not let it take precedence over relationships, responsiblities, and sometimes even my own safety. I'm happy to be able to say that I've finally made some gains as far as all of that goes. I wouldn't say that I've turned the corner, but I'm at least taking a peak around it.
I started out the flathead season in full psycho mode. I fished as much as I could and stayed on the river until the next morning way too often. I even got stranded out there twice with motor problems. Fortunately, with all of this taking place, I found myself getting fed up with how it was affecting the quality of the rest of my life. The second time the motor broke down, I had my nephew and son with me. We ended up stuck out there in the cold and fog all night long. Those poor kids fell asleep in the bottom of the boat, but I could tell that they were miserable. They stirred frequently, and both shot straight up each time that I gave the pull chord another dozen tries. Of course, they reported that they loved every minute of it, but I came away thinking that something would have to change.
The first thing that changed is that I put the starter back on the motor and rebuilt the carburetor. The old girl runs like she's brand new again. But if that's all I did, I think I would have fallen far short of what God has been trying to teach me. My changes were simple, but collosal for someone with an addiction. Step one was to go less. I actually got down to one trip a week for a good part of the summer. I never thought that I'd be able to do that without developing some sort of nervous tick. I do twitch now and then, but I'll be alright. The second step was to quit staying out there until a new day and the requirement to be at work finally forced me to reluctantly trailer the boat. The third step was the biggest. The chronic loner finally started to invite people to come out and enjoy my little piece of heaven with me.
Who would have thought that I'd actually enjoy myself more?! I was able to take one of my kids and a staff member from work out to the bayous for the spring channel cat run. The 3 of us had the time of our lives. It was so fun for me to see their absolute amazement at the numbers and size of fish that you catch out there. Who doesn't like to be a hero? I got to be a hero that day. They both caught the biggest fish of their lives. The client's was a 14 pounder. He bragged and showed off the picture for weeks. The kid was enjoying himself so much out there that we could barely talk him into going home. He couldn't sit still in his seat because he had to pee so bad, but he just kept asking to cast out the half a creek chub head that was left on his hook for one more chance.
I've also been able to take some friends from work and their families out for flatties. Some were already experienced at fishing, some had barely been before. The results were always the same. People just seem to fall in love with being out on the river. That combination of catching bait and then moving on to the big uglies makes a great one-two punch. Catching the gills in the middle of God's great creation is perfect relaxation, perfect peace. Then the gear shift. When I set the hook on the first flathead and hand the rod over, I get pure joy from the pure joy that I witness. When people fight their first flathead, the amazement of it makes them laugh. I love that. Some continued to giggle for minutes after. That was even better. One friend was enjoying himself well enough as we caught bait and then settled in for the cats, but I caught him yawning a few times. When we got into the flatties, the adrenaline hit him and he was gung ho to try every spot that I suggested. The flathead gods rewarded him by topping off an already solid night with a 27-pounder. When he posted it on facebook, someone asked him, "Where are you, Africa?".
