Opening Day of Bass Fishing

Pappy Remembered - 6/12/11 - Written by Mike LaDue

Thursday morning I was riding along the shore line in my Lyman, picking up perch and soaking up the warm rays of the sun. I enjoyed non-stop action from perch, rock bass and a couple of small mouths. A west wind blew a heavy sea of whitecaps for about an hour and then it behaved itself. The sun permeated my bare skin from head to toe; only finding resistance from the swim suit that I wore. Even the swim trunks seemed like too heavy attire, for the burning 80 degrees. As is usually the case my mind did some wondering… back to my early years on the River.

My father introduced me to the River… oh my… over fifty years ago. I carried a rod and reel on the high rocks of Krings Point, to cast for sunfish when I was four years old. As I grew bigger, Pap rented a row boat from relatives at Goose Bay. I literally climbed to the very tip of the aluminum boat to absorb the cool river breeze as we left the bay. The fishing kept my young mind occupied with large rock bass and reel-stripping small mouth. Once he got me into a boat there was no getting me out until sunset. We ate lunch on the River and explored her nether regions like two kids of kindred spirit. He always set aside two weeks for our adventure.

Pap did a lot to keep my older siblings occupied, before I came along. He set up a baseball diamond in part of his garden, with a caged backstop and real bases. The neighborhood had more than enough youngsters to build a pair of teams to play ball. Pap was there to referee and some times partake in all of the fun. I have cousins who reminisce how much they enjoyed coming to see “Uncle Russell”, he always took time to get down to their level and play with them.

I was his last of four children and he was not as youthful when I broke unto the surface of world. He opted to provide me with the tools to explore the world and gave me a free reign to do it. Fishing poles, a small plastic boat, BB gun, bow and arrow, skates, and his shared imagination. He knew that the outdoors was a good way to learn about life and he encouraged me, with his own stories from his days as a boy. His father was taken from him when he was only five years old and being outside seemed to heal his wound, better than any words could have.

As with a lot of other fathers in the sixties he spent most of his time at work. He had to provide for my mother and four kids, so time was a precious commodity. I would some times catch up with him after he had endured an exhausting day. I know that I was the last thing he needed to hear from, as his slouched demeanor would indicate. None the less he bent a patient ear, to listen as I rambled off my most recent discovery or problem. He never scolded or criticized me for some of the outlandish things I undertook… he just listened and smiled. I had his trust, love and respect… always.

In 1968 he purchased a 1956 center steer Lyman to enhance our trips to the River. The slender craft built a link between us, as we refurbished her interior and the outer hull. We were both proud of the results and enjoyed her for a few seasons… yes the best times either of us had on the River. With a larger boat we ventured into areas of the River that we had only seen on the rolled up maps of parchment we carried. A good many times during that season, those maps became our best friend in finding our way back to Kring’s. We ate fish every day for diner and roasted marshmallows over the fire, while we gazed at the stars over the St. Lawrence.

We eventually purchased a small cottage here in Cape Vincent, where he was able to enjoy his retired years, in the place which he loved most. Every summer evening found him at docks end absorbing the sunset, savoring each one as if it was the last. His last days were a struggle for all of us, as we watched him dwindle down to eternity. He was pleased to know that we had found a resting place for him, here along the River. My Bride went so far as to promise him that we would live here and be close by. That promise released the broadest smile that she had ever seen from my Pappy!

There are few words that can be offered to thank a Dad for all of the sacrifices that they have willingly made. Most of them will shrug off the attention, being too humble to except that that has come naturally to do. It’s just what they do…