Beer and Bait Drive Through

There was once a time in my life when I thought fishing was the finest leisure activity known to man. I could write a tome on how excited I got when it was time to go fishing, how amazing the feeling was when some fish ate the bait on my hook and made a run for freedom, only to be thwarted by a thin strand of monofiliment and my will to bring this animal to land. I was addicted to the art and sport of fishing. When I was a younger man, age 12 through 17, I was a fishing fool. Every day the sun shone, no matter what the season, I was likely on the creek bank or plying a local farm pond hunting all of ichthyarchy.
Yes, I was going to be a pro bass fisherman and enter tournaments, I was going to get a sponsor and a fancy bass boat and make my living as a sport fisherman. I took it all very seriously back then, and while I knew it was unlikely that I would ever succeed as such a thing, it was fun to aspire to a goal.


Of course, life got in the way of such aspirations. I got older, married, had children, had to work for a living, but still I managed to wet a line from time to time. After awhile "fishing" read "drinking" as it became an excuse to fill a cooler with beer and take off in the car with a cold one between my legs and the windows open, rock and roll on the radio. There was nothing better than escaping the domestic life at home than to arrive at some pool of water and drink beer while casting about for my submarine prey. In those days, often was the time all I caught was a buzz, and that was enough.


Eventually, I stopped even pretending to be a fisherman, summers past by and I didnt even wet my line once. I forgot the rush of my invisible quarry, hidden till the last moment, biting the lure in a violent and sudden fury. The pull on the line as an easy troll hit a solid, living force determined not to surface. I forgot the peace of spending time at waters edge, the natural beauty and stillness, interrupted only by the song of crickets and the drone of bull frogs. I forgot the serenity I gained from fishing, even if I got nary a nibble, the act of being by the water and quietly hunting fish was sufficient to ground me for awhile, to calm my nerves and make me think of the more important things. When fishing, there are often long blocks of time where thinking is all there is to do.


So today it has been 12 years or more since I have been fishing, longer than that since I was serious about it. Then for no other reason than there was nothing better to do one afternoon, my girlfriend asked if I would like to go fishing at her fathers pond. We left without tackle or even a rod, I was assured her father had gear I could borrow. Sure enough the man had some decent lures and a good rod and reel that he allowed me to use. We arrived at the pond, it is beautiful, surrounded by the hills of south central Ohio and as clear and clean as any spring fed lake can be. In the brilliant sunshine, totally in love with my girl, a slight breeze blowing and a sky an endless vault of Corillian blue, I tossed out a lure and brought her back like I had done so many times. The first cast or two yielded nothing, but the third got a "hit" where some underwater life had actually thought about eating my lure. Eight or ten casts later I had a fish on my line, a juvenile bass came up, he was small and easy to catch, but I was experiencing a re-awakening, a long lost love had come back into my life. I let the fish go, and started again, by the end of the afternoon I had caught over a dozen small fish and one nice one. The bigger bass was about 18 inches and went 2 lbs. Not a leviathan by any means but fun as hell to catch and bring in.
It is funny how a small event can mold and shape ones future. I have since purchased new tackle, cleaned my old, nasty tackle box and bought a new rod and reel. I am now outfitted to fish anywhere any time. I do not know if I will actually find the time to fish regularly, but I hope I do.


My sweetie suggested we buy my new tackle at a small sporting goods store in town. She drove me to the spot and I knew I loved it the moment I saw the place. First off, there were beer signs in the windows. This is always a good sign, meaning the proprietors understand that fishing often means drinking. We walk inside and it smells like a bait store, the odor of a live minnow tank and a refrigerator full of nightcrawlers, overtones of bagged catfish bait and the lingering hint of burly, stinky, drunk cat fishermen that just left. I hit the wall of lures and started making selections. I needed some chartreuse rubber worms and I wanted a selection of Rooster Tails. It was funny how I remembered what kind of artificial bait I needed. I decided to purchase a new rod and reel, I got a nice combo for only $20.00 and thought it was funny how the same rig would have been over a hundo back in the day.


A store where one can drive through and buy bait and beer is a classic combo. I am a big fan of one stop shopping. I remember outfitting for a fishing trip, it always included a stop at the bait store and then another stop at the drive through. Here I could do it all at once, re-fill the cooler with beer, ice it down, get night crawlers and chicken liver, then drive to the lake and enjoy.
The advantages of living with the rednecks in rural Ohio are few, but one has to admit, beer and bait from the safety and convenience of the car is a rare and beautiful thing. I can hardly wait to be beer drinking and bass fishing again. My neck may be a little red after all.