I always have fun reminiscing as i put together one one of these weekly flashbacks but I will admit that I have been looking extra forward to this one. Funny how some things seem just like yesterday from 35 years ago while others indeed seem like a long time ago.

As today’s original log entries note, “Bru, Joe and I” went on a pair of August outings. For those who don’t know Bru and Joe, well, I am going to tell you a bit about them. For those who do know Bru and Joe, well, you know that they are indeed a pair of memorable characters.

“Bru” and “Blue” having a discussion

Bru is Gary Bruington, longtime Galesburg Silver Streaks baseball coach and stellar GHS athlete in his day (Dad told me all about Bru’s abilities as I was growing up). Bru’s 1988 Silver Streaks claimed the state baseball title in dominating fashion (I was fortunate to be in the stands in Springfield that day) but our story occurs a few years prior.

Not only was Bru a great coach and teacher but he also served as a mentor to a teenage kid who had been bitten by the bass bug. Bru gave me my first spinnerbait and I remember marveling at the size compared to my old standard Beetle Spin offerings. He also showed me how to rig a Texas rigged worm. And Bru would take it a step further in inviting me out on Knox County’s Oak Run to show me just how to fish such a presentation (outfishing me about 10-0 on the two trips included in this post). Now, that is a not only a good coach but flat out a good man.

Our Oak Run outings also included some water skiing which was extra entertaining with Joe in tow. Joe Dennis is the toughest dude that i have ever met and has the Golden Gloves boxing cred to back up my assessment. Joe was also one to talk some good-natured trash among friends (and a little less friendly to some opponents and the occasional sports official). In the good-natured trash talking regard that made Joe and Bru two peas in a pod. This made the water skiing quite a spectacle as Joe constantly ran his mouth while Bru navigated in a manner seemingly aimed at dumping or perhaps killing Joe. I kept my mouth shut, enjoyed the show and crossed my fingers that Bru wouldn’t treat me in the same fashion.

Joe, me and some teammates in our younger days

I have more stories about Joe Dennis than likely anybody I have ever met. Rivals growing up, temamates later, good friends and even fishing buddies, quite ride. Joe wound up in Alabama for college and still resides down that way. It’s been quite a few years since we crossed paths, sadly at a GHS andLegion temmate’s funeral and happily at Joe’s induction to the GHS Athletic Hall of Fame. No matter the years, we don’t miss a beat and the tales start flowing.

Like the time Joe got ejected during our inner city Churchill-Lombard Junior High basketball rivalry.

Or the time Joe got the boot against Moline High School. I was right behind him and an opponent who began mouthing off as we lined up for an inbounds play. I believe I even told the fellow that he’d better watch his step but did he listen? The kid had been asking for it, was kind of annoying over the years.

Or in junior high when Joe and his fellow linebacker, Bobby Jackson, convinced me that my quarterbacking days were over. Just not worth the beating they threatened and effectively dished out.

Then there was the bench clearing altercation with the Farmington Legion baseball squad.

And the Peoria Spaulding High School baseball fiasco (neither of the above were instigated by Joe but always a good teammate for me to locate when push came to shove).

Oh yeah, there was the time Joe and I got technical fouls down at the Morton High School gym when getting a “homer” job by the officiating crew. It was my lone career technical while Joe would eventually end up getting tossed after one of the officials disregarded Joe’s request to mop up a slick area on the floor. The ref said something along the lines of “Clean it up yourself.” Joe responded in kind by telling the ref to do something himself and it kind of went downhill from there.

Yes, we also caught a few fish over those high school years with Joe always having “The Glove” in tow. A leather work glove as the fellow who could whoop pretty much anybody didn’t like to handle our fish.

Geez, I guess don’ t get me started. Quite a pair of guys sharing today’s flashback and memories to last a lifetime. Talk to you later. Troy

 

 

Perhaps a bit lengthy for today’s flashback but too tough to trim down this pair of original posts from August 2015.

Originally posted August 26, 2015

Well, me and the bass have not crossed paths for 66 days during a busy summer. However, I did get an opportunity to play fishing guide recently as a couple of my kids wanted to go for a boat ride and chase some bluegills on a recent camping trip.

Actually, I had planned to go on a solo bass trip that particular morning while the rest of the crew slept off a late night of tacos in a bag and s’mores around the campfire. But at 5:30am, as I rolled around out of the tent, I was met by Julie and our youngest daughter, Carly, who was interested in accompanying Dad on the water.

What do you say to that?

I was admittedly a little shocked to see a youngster up that early to fish but she had been a pretty dedicated bluegill chaser the previous evening so I suppose I shouldn’t have been too surprised. And I will also admit a tinge of selfish disappointment at rearranging my bass pursuit in favor of panfish but I quickly and properly got over it. In fact, Carly’s enthusiasm left no doubt concerning what I already knew was the right thing to do.

Carly is a talker and she lived up to that billing as we drove through Little John Conservation Club from campsite to fishing hole peppering me with a barrage of questions and observations. While a nine year old girl and her forty eight year old dad’s interests are sometimes separated by the traditional generation gap, during those few hours in the wild we were right in tune. An “experienced” outdoorsman, an eager pupil and the natural backdrop were a perfect combination.

A few minutes after launching the little johnboat Carly hooked into her first fish off a point that is a consistent winner and apparently more than just a bass haunt all of these years. Later in the trip she posted her first (and second) redear on her way to a decent bunch of fish in maybe an hour and a half of casting before we decided to head back to see what the rest of the crew was doing.

I was quite impressed with Carly’s casting precision from boat to bank as she was right on target and demonstrated a touch that usually isn’t necessary when prowling the bank. The bite was fair and many were missed as some of our quarry may not have been large enough to adequately take even a 1/16 ounce jighead hung from a slip bobber. Carly’s success solidified her opinion that waxworms rule as her Gulp minnows just didn’t do the trick. It was also cool to hear the pride as she discussed her catch, even when she pointed out the fact that I had not caught a single fish. I did pitch a Senko around briefly and tried to talk a bass into taking a buzzbait to show Carly the exciting and explosive strike but neither presentation produced. I also tossed a Gulp minnow to no avail but was quite content with my tasks of rowing, baiting up waxworms, releasing the occasional catch, snapping pics and shooting the breeze.

An enjoyable morning spent with our family’s most dedicated fisherkid who’d also posted a handful of bluegill the previous evening. Those fish came with a healthy dose of fishing advice from her Papa, the same guy who taught this blogger a thing or two about fishing back when I was a nine year old kid.

Originally posted August 28, 2015 

A few hours later I was back on the water with a boy of my own as our six year old, Jayce, was itching to try his luck from the boat as well. While Jayce has been out on boat rides in his Papa’s Bass Tracker, this marked his first time in what we’ve long called “the little boat.” Me and Jayce’s Papa and Uncle Brent have covered many miles over the 30 plus years we’ve rowed that thing around West Central Illinois. Dozens of other anglers have also tagged along over the years, making me think it would’ve been fun to have had each of them add some graffiti on their trip (likely would’ve weathered away anyhow).

Anyway, Jayce was fired up from the moment we left the bank. It started with standing up as his initial stab at pushing the limits. And, “No, buddy, you’ve gotta sit down” was my response (all half dozen times or more).

Next was “Can I put my hand in the water?” No problem as I wrapped a couple fingers in a strap on his life jacket.

“How about my feet?” Nope, sorry buddy, too tough in an eight foot johnboat with six year old legs.

“Can I row the boat?” That was gonna be a winner and a valuable skill to be put to use in future years as his dad keeps getting a little older. However, he shortly added, “with my flip flop?” Cool, whatever floats your boat little man.

And yes, we fished, although the roles were somewhat reversed from my trip earlier in the morning with Carly. In this instance, I cast and caught the fish while Jayce was in charge of tending to the bluegill once they reached the boat. I asked him several times if he wanted to cast, hook and reel them in but he was more interested in surveying and organizing our catch in the bottom of the boat. That was probably for the best anyway as our catches were so small that it was a very limited hooking percentage on the bites, potentially frustrating for a young angler.

We had a good time fishing our way around a smallish body of water over the course of maybe an hour before heading across the road to our campsite. It was our first camping trip of the year to Little John and I’d kind of lost touch with the adventure of a family outing in the wild. In terms of the fishing portion I also found it fun that camping afforded the cool aspect of my boy crawling out of bed and then climbing into a boat without even bothering to change out of his pajamas. Gotta love the outdoors.

Talk to you later. Troy

Anybody ever told you to “Go jump in a lake”?

Well, although the figurative meaning may carry a bit of a negative connotation, it’s not altogether a bad idea during a summer heatwave. However, I would much prefer to go jump in a creek.

And that’s just what me and Dad did fifteen years ago this week as told in the original report and a slideshow from the fishing photo album.

Originally posted 7-31-05

7/9/05 – Pat’s Creek was the destination for Dad and me as I hit the water for the first time in over a month. We were not disappointed as our two dozen dew worms resulted in just over a dozen fish covering five species and four new entries into the record book. Dad caught the bulk of the fish including a Grand Slam Plus with five species (carp, channel catfish, smallmouth bass, white bass and creek chub).

 

So, there you go. Find a public stream or get some private permission, grab a pair of creek shoes, a couple dozen dew worms and go jump in a creek (actually probably slide in). Oh yeah, and if you are able, bring along your dad or a kid. Talk to you later. Troy

35 Years Ago This Week – new pond, slim teenager, plug of chew, Streaks cap, dog day bass…those were the days, huh?

Is there anything better in fishing than getting to fish a new and unseen pond?

There’s just something about new waters that really gets me fired up. Of course, most of the time they come with tantalizing tales from folks who have already taken their shot on the fishing hole. In addition, there is often a physical description of what the pond has to offer. Maybe it’s “a batch of lilypads in one corner” or “several trees in a cove” or perhaps “a ditch that is littered with stumps.”

Whatever the case, I find that I already have a picture of the place in my mind before I ever see the water. Sometimes my vision is close, other times it’s not, but never does it disappoint as the fishing hole comes into view.

My brother, Brent, with an old school trophy from “Olson’s Pond”

Thirty-five years ago this week I was in just that sort of scenario and actually in this case it involved a pair of ponds. Dad worked at Dick Blick Art Materials in Galesburg where a young guy was working during a college summer. Blaine Atwater was a fellow Galesburg High School grad several years older than me and it turned out that Blaine’s grandparents had some McDonough County, IL fishing holes near Colchester.

Brent on a carefree July 1985 evening at Olson’s Pond, fifteen is now fifty, time flies. 

Well, Dad and Brent got an invite and brought back fish stories of some nice bluegill and several solid bass. I had just begun to think that I was some kind of bass fisherman so naturally I was quite enthused when I was invited to tag along for their return trip on July 1, 1985. Per the original log entry below, here’s how it all went down.

Asked my boy, Jayce, who this was. “That’s you, Dad.” Nope, actually his Papa in 1985. I took it as a compliment.

While the results of this outing were a bit of a summer dog day beat down, the pics from those days always bring a smile all of these years later. I still think about those fishing holes every time I pass through Macomb and McDonough County on the way to visit family in Quincy. As the years have passed, I’ve come to realize that the best fishing memories don’t necessarily include the best catches. Talk to you later. Troy