More on college

Bob took me fishing at several area locations. We fished most often at the farm ponds located on the university farm.  It was here that he taught me how to fish for bass and crappie. We would often fish in the evening and we were fairly successful.

Bob taught me how to slowly fish a surface lure. He used a balsa wood Rapala floating minnow which was popular at that time. I even bought my own lure which I still have to this day. It was with this lure that I have proved the old axiom about fishing equipment. Lures catch many more fisherman than fish.

We fished several local lakes including the lake at Argyle State Park. This park, best known for beer drinking “lakers”, proved to be not much good for fishing. We caught a few bass and some black crappies, but that was all.

One fishing experience was at a pay-to-fish lake. This was the only time I did this. You pay a small initial fee and the rest of the cost is by the pound of fish caught. No fish are allowed to be thrown back. 

We waited with our rods while a pick-up pulled up the dam forming the lake. An employee banged on a fifty gallon drum and the water began to churn as fish rose to the surface. The employee then threw scoops of fish food pellets into the water and the fish went crazy, hitting the surface repeatedly. We were told to cast. As with Coleta, the fish bit at everything that entered the surface. I caught two fish on two casts and decided this was no fun. I reeled in and gave my two catfish to another person.

Later that same spring, Bob and my friend Jerry W., went fishing without me. I had a final exam, they were graduating seniors and finished early. I saw Jerry in the hallway late that afternoon. He told me to come into the restroom. In the deep restroom sink used for rinsing clothes, there were six huge largemouth bass. Jerry said the smallest weighed four pounds.

I was so jealous. I asked where they had caught the fish. He said they sneaked into the back side of the pay-to-fish lake and caught them there. He said the bass were so active the one hit his bobber while he was reeling in another fish. Now that would have been a sight to see.

Return to the Smokies

A few years back, Don asked if I would like to go back to the Smokies with him. He and Pat had traveled there recently and found a nice hotel just outside of the park. A hotel sounded much better than camping. I made sure the hotel was not named “The Shangi-La.”

We left early in the morning. It was a great drive out which took about eight hours. Townsend, TN is about ten miles east of Gatlinburg, which is at the entrance to the National Park. We arrived at the hotel in the early afternoon.  Don tried to get me in an argument over politics with the owner.  Don told him I was an Obama supporter. The owner said the polls showed the majority of the country was not in favor of Obamacare. He asked why he would push through something the country didn’t support. All I said was “That’s what elections are for”. That ended the conversation.

Fortunately the owner liked money more than politics. He wanted to a make sure we stayed more than one night. He offered to give us help with trout fishing. The owner had access to the river below the hotel. We could park at a caboose/cabin he had and fish all we wanted.

We fished all afternoon. I caught a trout. Don fly fished and caught several trees.  It started to sprinkle and we went in for dinner. I went in to wash up and get the fish slime off my hands. When I got back, Don got up to wash up. I asked him why, since he didn’t have fish smell on him.

The next day we fished back in the National Park, where we had camped years earlier. This was about ten miles from the motel. We parked in a small lot and walked to the stream. It started to rain pretty hard, so we moved under a bridge to fish. The water started rising rapidly. This flash flooding happens often in the mountains.

We decided to get out of the area before roads became flooded. We ran back to the car, stripped off our waders and left. After driving back to the motel, we discovered Don’s fly rod was missing. Then he remembered he had put it on the top the car while he was removing his waders.

We decided to drive back to try and find the fly rod. Driving slowly along the winding road, we kept looking for the rod. We backtracked the path we had driven until we re-entered the National Park. By this time it had stopped raining, but the creeks were running rapidly.

We got out and searched down to the bridge. Frustrated with no luck, we walked back to the car. Then I noticed a fishing rod standing by a post. It was Don’s fly rod, apparently retrieved by some helpful camper.

On the trip back, we saw some crazy guy in a tiny kayak traveling down the rapidly moving stream. The stream bed was full of boulders, but he kept going. He must have been traveling more than twenty miles an hour. We got ahead of him and stopped on a bridge. A small crowd was watching him come down the stream. We filmed the crazy guy as he shot past except I can't find that guy in the video and it won't upload.

The rain effectively eliminated any fishing. We decided to end the afternoon at a bar. We had an early dinner and hit the sack. We left the next morning. Eleven hundred miles of driving, one trout. Hey, it’s not about the fishing, remember?

Misguided Fishing Boulder Junction

The most recent guide fail didn’t actually cost Don and I any money. Paul wanted to do a combination grouse hunt and fishing trip. He had a new puppy he wanted to train to point, so he made arrangements to go grouse hunting with a guide. He was also a fishing guide.

My brother, Tim, loves to fish. Unfortunately we rarely get to fish together. He has this thing called “a job” and it really messes with fishing trips. My brother, Steve, loves to hunt. He also likes to get away to do some fishing. Steve farms so he has lots of time off. (That’s a joke).

At any rate, Don, Paul, and I planned to go to Wisconsin. I called Tim and Steve to see if they were available too. We planned the great adventure to the north woods.

Steve and I had fished with Paul at Boulder Junction WI the prior year. (Would you ever admit you were from a town whose initials were “B.J.”?)That trip was covered under adventures in Paul’s boat. This post is about guide fails.

Paul’s guide, Neil, was described by Paul this way. If you go out with Neil every other word is “fawckin”. “Them Fawckin’ grouse will be along the fawckin’ road”. So Paul and Steve went grouse hunting with the guy. They  saw , shot at and missed two “fawckin grouse”. Paul’s puppy, Duke, spent his time wandering around looking, but not pointing at anything. Meanwhile, Tim and Don and I fished where Paul and Steve and I had fished the prior year for smallies.

We had no luck. The next morning we had breakfast with the guide. He told us we were fishing in the wrong spot on the lake. “Dey are out by the island, stacked up like fawckin’ cordwood.”  He said with a strong Irish brogue. He also said to try another smaller lake. Again he told us where “Dey were stacked up like fawckin’ cordwood”

We went out again. We fished where he said. Not one fish was caught by any of the five of us. We never saw anything “stacked up” on the fish finder. After fishing for three days we had no fish. Paul had to get home early, so Steve and Don decided with go with him.

Tim and I stayed on. After all we had another lake where they would be “stacked up”. This day BJ weather decided to make things interesting again.  Wind and rain blew up as we searched the lake for “cordwood”. We never saw any.

Since Don had left, I figured the curse we shared would leave. After several hours blowing around, we drifted over a reef in the middle of the lake. I caught one, tiny, rock bass. Tim and I tried to stay on the reef, hoping for some of those “cordwood” fish. All we caught was one  tiny “fawckin’” rock bass.

We changed lakes, but had no results. Coming back to BJ in the rain we decided to leave a day early.  Don had fished for two days,  Steve and Paul had fished for one, Tim and I had fished for four days. We had two very small fish to show for it, but hey, fishing isn’t about catching fish. The motel owner wanted to know why everybody left early.   

I decided Don must be the Joe jinx guy, but I was the fawckin cloud over his head.

Misguided Fishing Kinkaid Lake

Southern Illinois folks must think the Robertson clan on “Duck Dynasty” are classy dressers. When we stopped for live bait outside of Murphysboro at Billy Bob’s Firearms and Formal Wear we heard, “Kin I git ma prom dress and his matchin’ tux in Mossy Oak?” They were out of live bait.

Kinkaid Lake is outside of Murphysboro IL.  The web site says, “Nationally known for its fishing, Kinkaid Lake provides anglers with ample opportunity to catch largemouth bass, crappie, catfish, walleye, muskellunge (muskie), and bluegill.”

I love when we find these lakes with glowing reports.  Nationally known!!!! Wow! We consider this a challenge.  Kinkaid is 2200 acres of “scenic sandstone bluffs and rolling hills”.

Don and I planned a trip. True to our practice on new water, we hired a guide. He was named Phil.  I asked Don if he had told Phil about the curse. He had not.

Phil was famous in the area. In addition to his work as a fishing guide, he has worked on fishing shows. He has been on multiple shows because of his success and reputation. However, Phil was about to take on his greatest challenge.

We drove down to Murphysboro and arrived in the afternoon. We had stopped in Raymond along the way to see the sheet metal progress on my brother, Jeff’s, Minneapolis Moline tractor restoration. We had stopped by earlier in the month and Jeff needed an update. We were driving right past there, so we stopped in. Little did I know that I would be making weekly visits that summer, but that’s another story.

We stayed in another “family” hotel. I think the owners must have been related to people in Sullivan (See Almost Holiday), but at least it wasn’t the Shangri-La. They were trying to plant a garden in mud, and they did have a live dog. Anyway it was cheap.

Our appointment with Phil was for all day the next day, so we decided to bank fish until then. It was windy, so we stayed on the dock. Unfortunately it was so windy that my custom fit sunglasses flew off and sank. You know that feeling of moving in slow motion as you see something fall away? They sank slowly, but I moved even slower. Equipment issues surround us and penetrate us, you know like “The Force”.

We met Phil at the boat ramp around 8:00. As was typical of guides, he had all his own equipment. I thought it looked a little beat up. I was to find out why later in the day. Phil took us across the lake and into a cove. We were fishing for muskies, but bass would work too.

We fished, we moved, we fished, we moved. Anytime we were in a cove. Phil would have us fish near a tree or a bush. He told us about good spots for crappies, but we didn’t fish for them.

I came to realize why Phil liked trees and bushes, and I also understood why his gear looked a little worn. Phil was a believer in lure and rod retrieval. By that I mean, every cove was scouted for lures that were stuck in the trees or bushes. He also looked for lost fishing rods. Phil found several lures on our trip. We found plenty of lures, but no fish.

I finally decided to fess up about the curse. Phil just laughed it off. After all, he was famous for putting celebrities on fish for fishing shows. Sometime during the day he made a confession to us. He said when big time fisherman with TV shows scheduled a show at Kinkaid , he and other guides would “pre-fish” before the big time people arrived to film; except he had a new definition of “pre-fishing”.

Tournament fisherman pre-fish to get to know a lake.  They do this the day before and release the fish. TV people want a sure thing for the cameras, especially when they are sponsored by fishing lure companies. Every year fishing lure companies advertise the latest “must have” lure.

 Phil and the other guides would catch fish for several days before the TV shoot and put them in underwater cages. When the TV personality was throwing the featured lure, the guides would attach one of their captive fish to it and let it go. The camera caught the fish rising out of the water sporting the featured lure in its mouth. I always knew “reality TV” was everything but real.

Soon we had traveled completely around  Kinkaid Lake, hitting all of Phil’s sure to produce spots. As the sun was getting low, we moved to the last cove on the lake. As we entered the cove, we saw a sign on the hill "Beware of Rattlesnakes". Don and I decided if we had to pee it was going to be off the end of the boat.  

The cove was shallow and located where the feeder stream entered the lake. We were casting to the shore. Suddenly Don had a strike. Excited but careful, Don worked the fish back toward the boat. It was a muskie! With Phil’s guidance, Don eventually landed the big fish. We took pictures, and released the big girl.

Since we were using Phil’s lures, I asked if he had another like Don’s. He said “No, only one”. They were custom hatchet blade spinner baits made by a local guy who hired disabled workers to make them. We continued to cast in the cove. Don never volunteered to let me use the lure. As darkness fell, we returned to the ramp. Phil said we should try dock fishing if we wanted to catch bass. Since I hadn’t caught anything for two days and all I had accomplished was to lose my sunglasses, we decided to fish a little in the morning before we left.

The next morning, we stopped in the marina and I bought a lure like the one Don had used on his muskie. I made one cast off a dock and caught a largemouth. The next cast the hatchet blade on the lure went flying into the lake. I figured it was time to go home as the curse was now adding lost equipment to our misery.

p.s. I lied about the girl asking for Mossy Oak.

I can’t remember what type of camo she wanted.

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.