I know the title doesn't reflect it, but this is my post for Father's Day. And it all started with a Pickle Loaf Sandwich.
The other evening, I got a hankering for a pickle loaf sandwich. So I dropped the Ramey's Supermarket deli and got a pound of thick sliced PL. A couple of sandwich's later, my mind started to wander back to when I was just a boy.
The Government Pond was built during the Great Depression by the Civilian Conservation Corp (CCC's). It is on the north side of Highway 160, about a mile and a half east of the Howell/Oregon county line. When it was built, it had a stone-paved dam and spill-way and a diving board. In my memory, there was just posts where the diving board had been and cattle roamed freely over the stone paving.
When I was three or four years old, Dad bought me my first fishing pole. It was a long hickory cane pole with hook and bobber attached. It seems like the day he brought it home, he said those words that would excite any little boy's heart - "Let's go fishing". So I knew this meant a trip to the Government Pond.
There was usually a ritual to these trips. We lived on the farm which was a couple of miles from the pond. But we would drive right past it and journey on a couple more miles and end up at the intersection of Highway 160 and M Highway. On the north side of this intersection was an old country store, ran by "Willie" Willard. (Dad's always called him "Williewad" - but not too his face!).
At Willies, we would usually pick up a package of hot dogs, a loaf of bread, some potato chips and soda pop. Other times, the main course would be chunk of boloney and a box of crackers. The hot dogs were rolled up in a slice of bread and washed down with a cold Pepsi in a glass bottle. Or, the baloney was sliced up by Dad, with his pocket knife - chunks cut to size (with the same pocket knife), placed between two crackers and washed down with a cold... Pepsi, Coca-cola, Dr. Pepper or Mountain Dew... all in cold, sweating glass bottles. This was usually eaten on the pond dam and when we finished, it was time to go worm hunting.
I know most kids today would not understand this, but there is nothing more satisfying that turning over a half-dried cow pile and grabbing for the big ole nightcrawler that is making an exit from the sudden exposure! And there is an art to knowing just how much "pull" to exert on a worm that is already half-way down his hole, to get him out and not end up with just half of a worm. The area on the north side of the pond was infested with huge nightcrawlers so it didn't take long to get enough for an evening of fishing.
There is also an art to fishing with a cane pole. You have to get the bobber and baited hook swinging back and forth like a clock pendulum - and when it is out as far as you can get out over the water, drop it down. Then, when you get a bite and set the hook, there's no reel to reel in your line - you just lift the fish out of the water with the pole or walk backwards and drag him out! Thankfully, my Dad took the time to show me how to do all of this.
While my brother Ralph and I were fishing from the dam, catching bluegill and perch, Dad was across the pond, fishing for bass. He fished with lures or plastic worms and not just from the bank. He would wade in and fish. Starting out shallow, he would eventually end up in water up to his armpits, holding his arms up out of the water to cast! It worked though. It seems like we always came home with a good stringer of fish.
I know he can't read this little blog post but - Thank you Dad, for being a good Dad.
