In my last column, I stressed how important it is for our kids to get out and enjoy some outdoor activities. I just really feel that it’s important to introduce our youth to the outdoors experience. It has been said many times over that the youth of today are the leaders of tomorrow.
This is only a common sense statement because of the ageing thing. However when the youth of today lose touch with something as important as the outdoors, it is troubling.
Last week, my oldest grandson Trevor called me in the evening. He told me that he and his youngest brother Grant were fishing in a nearby “crick.” Not only was he surprised by what they were catching, but I too was surprised to hear it. They were catching bullheads (not earth shaking news) and bluegills, some pretty decent perch and even a catfish. When fishing in a small creek, that is not directly connected to a known fishing lake, this is an exciting experience to this writer.
The excitement in Trevor’s voice told me that he was having a blast. The idea of catching that many species of fish in a place that you didn’t expect was pretty awesome. I immediately thought of the times when I roamed the slough on north Bridge Street and would see a fish that wasn’t common to that body of water.
I remember the first time I hauled up some small crappies in the minnow net we used at the old bridge. Crappies weren’t all that common in Fountain Lake back then, and to find them in the “crick” was almost unimaginable. It was instances like this that taught me to learn to love the outdoors and appreciate the surprises that Mother Nature would occasionally spring on us.
Some of us never lose that kid feeling when we are exploring new territories in our outdoors world. It is the same kind of feeling I get when I’m fishing and anticipating that “big one” lurking just around the next point. I still get that feeling, but now whenever I’m fishing with the grandkids, I am wishing that they will be the ones to experience that fish. Don’t get me wrong, I still get that kid feeling whenever I go fishing whether it’s on a northern lake or a creek close to home – it’s all good!
There were many lazy summer days when this kid would ride his bike over to his friend Jim Foley’s farm to play. He lived on Hammer Road, which at that time didn’t seem to have a name. I just knew it was gravel and that I had to ride my bike past this nasty old Holstein bull that resided in the pasture of a farm on the way. The farm was about where the field house is now for the football field.
If that bull was grazing by the fence in the pasture below the hill when, I would ride by and watch him running along the fence bellering. He’d chase me until I chugged up the steep hill and was out of sight.
Once at Jim’s place we played in the barn swinging from the hayloft, dropping on a pile of straw bales below. This was great fun until his dad discovered how many bales had (accidently) been broken; then it was time to discover new territories. I have to admit that all the while we were playing, the image of that bull running along the fence line would occasionally pop into my head, because I knew that there was only one route home.
There also were a few trips back to “dead man’s woods,” which just by the name alone was always intriguing to kids looking for adventure. I’m not sure how the woods got its name, but I’d heard that a local hunter had set a snare trap for deer. When he went back to check it, he forgot the location and was caught in his own trap.
I’m sure there are other local legends about this woods, but that’s the one I’m sticking with. A kid with a little imagination might even have thought that the woods were haunted.
One hot August summer day while exploring a small “crick” north of the road, we found a place where the water was reduced to a trickle in this wooded area. There was a pool that was deeper than the rest. In that pool, we discovered small bluegills and perch along with some bullheads and minnows. Now this seemed like pretty exciting stuff to a young aspiring outdoorsman who seemed to look for signs of fish in every puddle of water he came upon.
I remember how troubling it was to me to think that it wouldn’t be long before that pool would dry up in the heat of the summer, if we didn’t get some rain. I never did go back to that place. Maybe it was because I knew that the same exact situation would never occur again, and subconsciously I wanted to remember it just the way it was.
I have always been infatuated by whatever swims just below the surface of our lakes, creeks and streams. Sometimes discovering fish in an area where you didn’t expect them to be almost seems like a miracle of sorts. If I ever get to the point that I no longer get that tingling of excitement from exploring the outdoors, then it’s time to close the old tackle box and hang up the fishing pole.
Until next time do a little fishing and get out and explore our great Minnesota outdoors.
Please remember to keep our troops in your thoughts and prayers during the coming year.