Fish Tales and Beer

Aug 3, 2012 by Rob Baylor

Part Two

Last chapter I told you of some fishing stories from when I was young and stupid.
My dad started taking me fishing when I was pretty young. He didn’t make very much money working at the lumber mill, my older sister was handicapped and it took a lot of money for her doctor and meds, but we also fished out of necessity. We ate fish and venison a lot and nothing was wasted. You know bad stuff like smoked or fried trout, venison steak, antelope and etc. This chapter contains some gruesome stuff so beware.
My dad was 5’5” and weighed 125 lbs. Not a large guy like me. He logged in the woods with horses and could milk cows. My mother also cooked in the logging camps.
I guess I was about 12 when he dropped me off at a friend’s farm to stay a few days during the summer. The last thing he said was to” leave those calves alone. Don’t be messing with them”. As soon as he left, we kids were trying to rope them so we could ride one. Guess what? I was the first one on and it lasted about 3 seconds before the calf hit the end of the rope and away I flew. I landed on some glass and cut my hand pretty bad. The phone was ringing when Dad walked in the door, telling him he had to come get me so I could get some stitches. How many times he said, “I told you so”, could be put in the Guinness Book of Records.
When you grow up in hunting country, and can get a license at 12, it seems forever until you can finally go hunting. Antelope season was getting ready to start and I was ready! I had a 30/30 Winchester; all my clothes were packed for the trip to eastern Montana for a long weekend with the “men”, and then I got the mumps. I couldn’t go, and that weekend seemed to take forever for them to come back with their stories.
Then came deer season. I was healthy and excited to go. I bagged my first deer and now I was hooked. I told my story to everyone a dozen times. I can say my dad was proud that I didn’t get into any trouble at all. I didn’t fall and bust my head open or get my feet wet or anything.
I quit school when I was 15 and joined the Navy. I would save my leave so I could come home at fishing and hunting time. Everything was ready for me, my pole was rigged up and my gun was oiled and away we would go. Dad had to work all week so I went fishing alone and didn’t have to tell him how many times I fell and how many times I got my feet wet cause I was a man now. All I told him were the good parts. And I produced food for the table.
On one of our hunting trips I shot a nice buck and he shot a nice doe. I was kneeling over my buck when he hollered, “give me a hand”. He had this deer by the foot and it was kicking the heck out of him so I helped him drag it up to the road where he cut it’s throat (told you it was gruesome). I went back to my buck and I heard, “Hold it “. He was straddled the deer and it got up and was going down the road. We got that deer after I ran up and helped him off. I was laughing so hard. All I could think of saying was, “Dang, I can’t take you anywhere “.
More trouble next issue so tune in…

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