At first, I wasn’t sure what to think. I watched him move slowly across the ice to a hole he had drilled. He sat down on the bucket he carried with him and started to fish. Except for the walker, he looked like any other angler on the ice with his back to the wind and hood over his head.
I admired the man for refusing to let snow and ice stop him. In fact, he saw the winter ice as a blessing, not a blockade. The winter ice provided him the opportunity to put fish in his freezer, to gather nature’s bounty, and provide for himself and his family like anyone else.
He reminded me of another individual I met while living in Mississippi. I drove to a nearby lake one evening to fish for Crappie. When I arrived, there was another man sitting on the fishing pier and I could see him pulling in a fish. I settled in next to him, said hello, and asked how the fishing was, and we engaged in the usual small talk.
As I was setting up my gear, he caught another fish, a sunfish of respectable size. When I looked over at him, he had grabbed the line and ran his fingers down it to the fish. He unhooked the ‘sunny’ and dropped it into a bucket beside him. He retrieved another worm from his bait box, threaded it on his hook, and cast the line into the water. He never once looked at his hands. He was blind.
He was tight-lining, a technique used without a float. He held his fishing line between his fingers and felt the fish bite. He had learned to tie knots, bait hooks, and catch fish without his sight. We fished together for a couple hours and he out-fished me at least two to one.
By the time his wife arrived to take him home, I thought about what I would do when I reach the age of infirmity or have some limiting condition.
I know … I’ll go fishing.
Royal Dun
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