Bayou Outdoors | Family Tradition

article by Dan Chason

I am told that on my first fishing trip, my stroller rolled into the lake and about flipped my mother out.  My dad was a die-hard fisherman.  His favorite saying was “Just let me catch one more”.  He was a pan fisherman and a cat fisherman.  He wasn’t introduced to bass fishing until he was over 50 years old.   The man would fish in a bathtub if he thought there was a fish in it.  If there was one in that tub,  I assure you he would catch it.  Dad came by his fishing fever honestly as my grandfather or “Pop” was a notorious fisherman (and moonshiner) in southern Georgia.  In fact, Pop held the record at Lake Seminole for years with a bass that weighed in at 14.75 lbs.  The amazing thing is my Pop did not own a baitcasting reel.  He fished with a spin cast Zebco or Johnson reel.  But let me tell you one thing, that old man could fish.

My father not only loved to fish, but he loved to share his love for fishing with his two sons:  my older brother Steve and me.  It was always a fierce competition, and I was determined to be the best angler of the three of us.  It was ironic years later when I took my dad fishing and he didn’t fish for quite a while.  When I asked him why he wasn’t bass fishing with me he said, “I just like to watch you.”  He could not have paid me a higher compliment.  I remember many a day on the lake with my dad and brother growing up.  Dad never invested in quality fishing equipment.  Our rod and reels were Zebco 33s or cheaper, and our boats left much to be desired.  At the time we lived in Millry, Alabama, which was a stone’s throw from the Tombigbee River.  My dad loved to fish on the downstream side of the dam where we caught huge catfish, buffalo and anything else that would bite.  Dad figured out that our 14-foot aluminum boat wasn’t cutting it with 3 of us in it and that raging current.  He opted to buy a 16-foot wooden boat that looked like it was brought over with Columbus when he discovered America.  This thing had more bondo than wood with plugs to stop up the holes and a rotting transom that leaked.  Dad latched on his dependable 20 hp Mercury and off we went.  The problem was soon apparent as our old anchors for the aluminum boat were not nearly heavy enough.  We returned home, and dad called a member of his church who was a welder.  The welder fashioned a 3-foot-long piece of 6-inch pipe and put long rebar spikes on it so that we could anchor and fish.  The next day we were off again, and Dad backed the old Ford LTD down the ramp.  We eased into the rushing water as the dam was in full gear discharging water.  We all loaded up and off we went.  Now this water was not only rushing but there were waves.  I’m talking a lot of moving water.  The waves were so high the boat crested and crashed sending this monstrosity of an anchor airborne and back down where the spikes impaled through the bottom of that wooden boat.  Water rushed in and my brother and I had every hand, finger and toe stuck in holes as Dad somehow got us back to the landing.  I know it will sound crazy, but the next week we were back in the same boat with the same anchor. The only design change was a rubber mat that was laid under the anchor.  It is a miracle I’m still alive as this was a very dangerous and concerning set up.  But that was my dad.

Every year at Christmas, we gave Dad three things:  Duct tape, vise grips and a spool of wire.  Everything the man owned from lawn mowers to vehicles had either duct tape or wire holding something together.  But I’m not kidding when I say the man was a gifted fisherman.  Later in life, he retired from boat fishing and would spend his free time at a “Pay Per Pound” catfishing lake.  He would go a couple times a week and was satisfied to know he would catch them and had fish to eat.  The amazing thing about him was his giving spirit.  He rarely went to the catfish ponds without neighborhood kids.  His fishing time was split with novice anglers already there who were having no luck.  He didn’t even know them but he would show them how he was catching fish.  That was his personality.  He loved to see people have success fishing and in life.  He was known as a kind and gentle soul.  I knew that to be true as I lived with him.

Dad used fishing for many other uses.  My favorite is how he would come into my brother’s and my bedroom and slip up close to your ear and whisper “wanna go fishing”.  On weekends I looked forward to it.  But he used it on school days as my brother and I would literally jump out of the bed, only to find out it was a school day.  He insisted on good grades and our reward was when he would check us out of school to go fishing.  I learned many lessons from this man.  One saying he had when he was beating you fishing was “Gotta live right to catch fish, son”.  My advice to you is this:  If your Father is still alive, cherish those times with him.  I would give anything for his wise advice or one of his bear hugs again.  His legacy lives on as I pass these gifts on to my children and grandchildren.  Somehow I know deep inside that Dad and Pop are looking down from heaven and know that they planted a seed that flourishes from their son and grandson who appreciate what was handed down to me over the years.  Happy Father’s Day, Dad and Pop.  I miss you.  See you soon.