Misguided Fishing Even Al Can’t Save Us

My step-dad, Al, is the best fisherman I know. Al can catch fish anywhere, any time. He and my Mom wintered on Pine Island in Florida for years.

Al’s reputation for catching fish spread all around Pine Island people would try to scout around to see where he was fishing. However, they never had any luck. It wasn’t just the location, it was the guy holding the pole.

As effective as Al was in Florida, his honey hole area was the Rock River. As a restaurant owner, he had caught catfish for his business. It was on the Rock where he lived as a kid. When you have to fish to make your next meal, you pay attention to what works.

So Paul says over breakfast “Hey guys, they are catching some big catfish on the Rock River. We should go there”. I said if we were going to fish the Rock, there was only one person we needed to guide us and that was Al.

After checking to see if Al was available,  and my brother, Tim, could join us, we planned a trip. I would bring my boat, and drive the two hours to Geneseo to meet Al and Tim. Tim had a boat he could borrow so we could all go out.

After meeting at Mom and Al’s we headed out for the ramp near Erie. Al rode with me. Tim took Don and Paul on a “historic” route passing by every farm we had lived on growing up. I was surprised they weren’t asleep when we arrived.

Al and Tim took us through the proper way to catch catfish. The Rock was up from recent rains, but we were able to get in without incident. We fished for several hours in the swift current. Not one bite.

We pulled off at Erie, and went into town for lunch. Erie has this hamburger stand called “The Pink Pony.” It makes McDonalds look like a place for fine dining.

After lunch, Al said he had a spot where his son, Dan, regularly caught catfish. He and Dan had caught a bunch the week before. The river access was through some private property and there was no ramp. Al said he knew the owner, so we headed to Hillsdale.

The access was basically sand and mud sloped toward the river.  Tim didn’t want to try the boat he borrowed, so I volunteered to put my boat in.  Putting in was relatively easy, with Al in the boat. I joined him and motored out to fish by the bridge, while the rest of our group waited on shore.

Don was so impressed with how easily Al got in and out of my boat. He couldn't believe Al was 90 years of age. 

We fished for about thirty minutes without a bite. Al and I returned to the put in spot, and then the real trouble started. The swift current prevented aligning the boat and trailer. Al took control and, we finally got the boat on the trailer. My two wheel drive pick-up could not pull the boat up the wet and slippery slope. After several attempts and four of us pushing, we worked our way up on to dry land. We were muddy and skunked.

This was the only time I ever saw Al fail to catch at least one fish.

The curse is that strong.

The Greatest Fisherman I Have Known

The Greatest Fisherman I Have Known

Alvin D. Vroman officially entered my life forty years ago. I had known him for a few years before, and actually met him several years before that. In 1976 he became my official Step-Dad and Grandpa Al to my kids.

While researching family history, I found the 1930 census. There, next to the Laleman family with 8 year old Freddy (my Dad Fred) was the Vroman farm with 9 year old Alvin, nick named “Buck”.

 As a young boy he lived in extreme poverty during The Great Depression. His Dad, like so many, lost his farm. They moved to a cabin along the Rock River. Fishing put food on the table, so it wasn’t recreation, it was survival. He developed a feel and understanding for fishing that was amazing to watch.

 His parents scraped together enough money to start a food trailer and they began to travel to carnivals and fairs. Al became a cook, and learned to make lemon shake-ups and corn dogs. Grandpa Al’s lemonade is a family favorite, and even in his nineties, he is asked to make some for every family gathering.

 Al Vroman was a successful entrepreneur. He and his wife Gladys farmed outside of Hillsdale, IL. Al had a good job at the John Deere plant, and he and Gladys saved every dime until they could buy a farm.  He and Gladys were also terrific cooks, and had a dream of starting a nice restaurant in his home town.

 The key to a successful restaurant is a great cook,  a well-stocked bar, and an owner who makes everyone feel like a friend. Al and Gladys were all of these things and their business was extremely successful. Al had to fight all the way to the Illinois Supreme Court to get the dry town of Hillsdale to grant him a liquor license, but the town fathers didn’t realize they were fighting with someone who never gives up.

Connie and I had eaten at “The Rustic” several times and my Dad and Mom had also dined at the restaurant owned by my Dad’s old neighbor.

 Gladys and Al traveled with the Restaurant Association on multiple trips abroad. A depression era kid was driven to see the world. They went to Europe, Asia, and often to Hawaii. It was almost like they were making up for all the Al had missed growing up. Unfortunately it did not last.

Gladys developed cancer and died in a short time. She suffered greatly as did Al. In his early 50’s, with more success than he could imagine as a kid, he lost his love and his partner. Without Gladys, he sold his highly successful business and returned to farming part time, but his life was unfulfilled. He had two teenage sons still in school. He had money, but Al had so much energy, he never really could retire.

 My Dad had died in his early 50’s. My two sisters and my two youngest brothers still lived at home.  One sister was to marry in a few months, but the others were still in school. With only older farm machinery to sell, a small life insurance policy, no savings, and nothing but a work ethic to market, my Mom was in a bind. She got a job, bought a house in town, and went to work raising three teenagers. She made it work, but her life was unfulfilled.

What Al brought to our lives is so rich it is difficult to describe. He brought stability to my Mom and my youngest three siblings.They built a new house in Hillsdale. He and my Mom created a life where they and their five  youngest children could become family. 

They were not to live without further tragedy. Al's granddaughter, Dawn, was killed while riding her bike. Her father, Greg, Al's middle son, would die in a traffic accident. His daughter, Eileen,  would die from an extended illness. In spite of all of this they would continue as a comfort to those who remained.

Al brought travel and adventure into his new family. He took the family to Hawaii, took my Mom to France, and most often he took them fishing. They made annual trips to Wisconsin and Minnesota. Retired from his restaurant business, Al and Mom began to spend winters in Florida. Ten years after their marriage, they built a house on Pine Island, outside of Ft. Myers, FL.

While in Florida, Al and Mom developed a friendship with Tim and Patti. Both were commercial fishers. Al would fish with Tim and learned the waters around Pine Island Bay. Patti taught him to catch crab.

 Al took us bank fishing on our early visits. He had a spot, “The Point”, where fish would pass into a canal. The point was an undeveloped lot about a quarter mile from their house. We would fish in the evening and everyone eventually was successful. Al, calmly sitting on an old bucket, would catch dinner every day.

With Tim’s help, Al bought an old boat hull and turned it into a fishing boat large enough for family. All of our immediate family, and many of Mom and Al’s extended family members, would plan to vacation with Mom and Al in Florida. They had many friends back home who came to visit. Mom had to keep a schedule, like a hotel, to keep from overbooking. Sometimes we had so many family members there, some had to sleep in the garage.

After several years, they moved back to my home town and Al built a third house, while keeping the winter home on Pine Island. 

 Every trip involved multiple hours on the water. We would look for seashells and sand dollars. We would travel to white sand beaches. Mostly, every day, we would go fishing. On every trip, no matter what else happened, Al would catch fish.

 He is remarkable at locating fish, especially the desirable Speckled Sea Trout. He carefully watched the tides and located the passages the fish used as they moved through the bay. Most of the time we all caught fish, but sometimes we were too slow or not sensitive enough, but Al never was. If he had a strike, he had a fish.

Al was so successful, he caught more than all of us could eat. Every year he filled their freezer with enough fish for the return to Illinois. So Al reverted back to a skill he learned from surviving on the river as a kid. Al began to barter. He started out giving away fish. Then, when offered something in return, he would develop a regular route. With Sandy, he traded for pies and cakes. He traded the “Orchard Man”, fish for fruit. He provided the restaurant owner fish for her business, and got a free lunch every day.

 In addition to his successful Florida adventures, Al and his sons would take an annual Father’s Day trip to Minnesota. Here, Vroman family tradition was established for Mile Lacs Lake in norther Minnesota. They fished for walleyes and always bought back fish. I made the trip with the one time. I wasn’t as successful as the regulars.

Eventually they sold their house in Florida, and became permanent northern residents once again. He continues to remain active making wood working projects like cradles for babies and benches for newly weds. At age 95 he gets more done than people half his age.

 Al’s fishing prowess is legendary among all who know him. In addition to all of the skill, he is just an enjoyable person to be around. He remains a great cook, and a skilled craftsman with wood. He stills calls me “boy” and I love it and I love him. We are so fortunate that he has come into our lives and become a father to me and Grandpa Al to all of our kids.

Misguided Fishing Rend Lake

Rend Lake is a large reservoir in southern Illinois. Don had been reading that it was the place to fish for crappies. Since the lake was over 20,000 acres, we decided to hire a guide for the first of two days fishing.

Don contacted the guide service and we had an appointment with Matt. Matt’s guide service advertises that he knows all the “hotspots” in southern Illinois for crappies and bass. He charges $350.00 a day for two people for ten hours of fishing. I asked Don if he had told Matt about our curse, but Don hadn’t.

Matt certainly knew a lot of spots. Rend Lake is very shallow, with many coves under two feet deep. The main lake areas are rarely over ten feet. Matt took us to places where crappies would love to hide. There are foundations from farm buildings flooded when the lake was formed. There were no fish biting at any of them.

While we were fishing we saw another guide who had a client. It turns out the client was a writer for “Mid-West Outdoors”. They were fishing for catfish.

We fished all day without a bite. Finally as we approached the last hour of scheduled fishing, Matt decided to take us to another lake. This lake was the original reservoir for a local town. It may have been Benton.

After casting around the small lake for most of the hour, Don finally caught a small largemouth bass.  Matt charged us the full $350.00. We even each gave him a $20.00 guilt tip.

We had a reservation at the Rend Lake Resort. We ate dinner there, and met the writer we had seen on the lake. He wasn’t having any luck either. I didn’t realize Don and I could expand our curse to others.

The next day we traveled out in my boat. We fished the coves. We fished the old foundations Matt had shown us. We tried every lure we had. Not one bite. We packed up and came home.

Rend Lake advertises itself as one of 7 wonders of Illinois. The other 6 must be former governors, as in “I wonder when the guy gets out of jail?”

We haven’t been back.

Misguided Fishing Dale Hollow

Move the misguided story to Tennessee. Dale Hollow Lake sits on the Kentucky-Tennessee border. It is a 27,700 acre lake. Its advertisement says “Dale Hollow is the current world record holder for smallmouth bass”. Don had read about the smallies, and suggested a trip. I had recently purchased a boat, so we headed there. It was a long 400 mile journey through the Kentucky Hills.

Don had made arrangements with the best known guide in the area. Bob was so famous, his picture was painted on the side of a building in the local town. He knew everyone, had terrific reviews, and knew all the best places to stay and to eat.

Bob had made arrangements for a cabin for us and scheduled an early morning at the boat ramp. Bob said to arrive at 6:00 am our time. Bob thought Illinois was in a different time zone, so we waited an extra hour for him to arrive. An omen?

Bob arrived with a big bass boat with a giant orange "T" on the motor. You know, like the one Bill Dance wears on his hat. I don't think Bob actually attended college, or even high school. We headed out in Bob’s boat using his equipment. We began by casting for bass. No smallies, but we did see some gars floating on the surface. We changed lures, we trolled, we jigged, and we changed locations. Nothing.

We ate our lunches in the boat. Bob changed tactics. He set his trolling motor to follow the contour of a drop off. Nothing. We moved near the deep water by the dam. Fish were on the scope, but no bites.

This went on until 5:00 pm. After eleven hours we had not one bite. Finally Bob said, “We have to catch something. I will take you to a place for crappies”

So we moved into a cove and he actually sat the boat in the branches of a tree. We couldn’t stand or cast, but we could jig. Jigs didn’t work, so we added night crawlers. Nothing.

As darkness began to close in we headed back to the ramp. Don and I got out our cash to pay him, but Bob refused our money. Don even offered pay for gas. Bob said no, he wouldn’t take money for no fish.

We took Bob’s recommendation for a pizza place. It was late when we arrived. The waitress was not more than thirty, and took our order. We waited and waited. The waitress’s son, a high school kid, stopped in the restaurant and left with a pizza. This caused us to speculate that in Tennessee they must start having babies around age 14.

We waited some more. After an hour, we decided the high school kid must have taken our pizza. We ordered something else and left. Not the best way to end an already shitty day.

The next morning we took my boat out on Dale Hollow. We tried different coves as well as some of the same coves. We threw every type of lure we had and Don has a lot of lures. Not one strike. After fishing all day, we headed back to the cabin for beer.

We stayed overnight and left for home early in the morning. We stopped in Kentucky for breakfast. The red headed waitress was very sweet to Don. I guess red heads have some type of mutual admiration society. It was the nicest part of the trip.

We have never been back to Dale Hollow.

 Bob no longer guides.

Misguided Fishing “The Curse begins”

Fishing guides are supposed to make fishing in a new location more interesting. They guide on their knowledge and reputation. It is not regular work, so guides need to keep their clients happy or they soon find themselves out of work. “Putting clients on fish” is the most important part of the job. It also helps if they good at BS as fishing trips are measured in days and not hours, and it helps entertain the clients.

Hiring a guide is expensive. Rarely do they charge less than $200 for a day of fishing, and often more than that. In addition, the expectation is that they will clean your fish and you will tip them for a good day of fishing. In our case we tip out of guilt.

Don and I are cursed. It is not us individually, but the two of us in combination. Sure, you might not believe in curses. I didn’t use to believe in curses, but I do now. When we became cursed I don’t know. Maybe Don insulted someone who owned a billy goat. After all, he is an avid Cardinals fan. Possibly it was a student or parent who spent time at both of our schools. I can think of several who were up to the task. He did have a professional palm reader in his school area. “Evidence? Show Proof, you say” ok you asked for it.

Misguided Fishing Evergreen

Paul C. is a local Bloomington guide not to be confused with my “Principal of Fishing” buddy, Paul O.B.  Paul C. gets lots of work from his reputation. He is frequently written about in the newspaper. He even travels to Minnesota to guide in the Boundary Waters.

Connie bought me a package for Christmas. It involved a custom built fishing rod (Paul is a craftsman), and one half day guided fishing trip for a friend and me. I took Don.

I wanted to catch walleyes (actually hybrid walleyes) on Evergreen Lake. We fished the main lake for hours. No fish were caught. We moved into a cove, no fish. After about four hours, we packed it in. Paul felt so guilty he offered to take me on another trip. He did make a nice rod for me, although a few years later, Don broke off the tip inside my boat rod locker.  I didn’t feel cursed then, just back luck. Getting skunked was part of fishing.

When I fished with Paul C.  by myself, we caught fish. I still use the techniques he taught me. Apparently without Don and Rick in combination, no curse.