A Walk Back In Time With MAD Magazines And Fishing
My family were definitely fishermen. In his day, my Dad landed many respectable salmon, rock cod and grilse. My ex coaxed many a brown or rainbow trout out of various rivers up and down the island. My brother and I even deck handed on a commercial fishing boat in our younger years. But the greatest fish story of the family belongs to my mother, who to the best of my knowledge never picked up a rod in her life.
It was the mid-sixties and we were camped near French Creek on the mid-island. Each summer, in early July my siblings and I were issued with our annual summer “supplies”. These consisted of one pair of cheap “go-a-longs” (now referred to as flip-flops), a hand-me-down “camp-hat” (from the next kid up who had outgrown it the previous fall), a few dollars in pocket money to purchase the latest Archie comic or MAD magazine (not to mention untold quantities of penny candy) and a fishing kit. Our kits consisted of a wooden frame wrapped with heavy string line, a cork bobber (always red and white) and a razor-sharp, child piercing treble-hook.
On the government wharf we spent the morning jigging for bullheads before heading over to the beach to swim. One of us (probably me, as I was forever losing things) had left behind our fishing kit and my Mum had set out to retrieve it. She stopped on the virtually deserted dock. It was a lovely, sunny, summer afternoon; her children were all occupied (and supervised) elsewhere. She picked up the wooden kit and paused.
It was a good two hours later that the rest of us ventured back to the wharf in search of her. There was our tiny British mother, surrounded by gnarly fisherman (back from a day of day-trawling). They were egging her with all manner of helpful advice as she hauled up yet another fat bullhead. In shock, we viewed the bounty she had already caught. “She’s a natural”, crowed one old salt. My mother positively beamed.
Written by Diana Hutton- Submitted as a contest entry
Published: November 3rd, 2014
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