FROM THE VALLEY: Easier than child's play | Opinion

“Any luck?” said the guy who drifted past me in his fishing boat as I was anchored on the downstream side of an island in the middle of the St. Lawrence River.

I'm sure he was just being friendly and making conversation, because as any self-respecting fisherman knows… is the right word here. You don't tell people how you're doing, and for good reason. You don't want to turn up at your favorite spot the next day and find a fleet of fancy boats full of opportunists hoping to cash in on the maritime activity.

Breaking this unwritten rule would be like a prospector yelling, “Hey guys, I just found gold 30 feet north of Joe Hollis' dock!” (By the way, there is no gold at the end of Joe's dock. He gave us a dozen eggs the other day and I thought I'd give him a call. Hi Joe.)

Back to the game of the picky idiot: What's the point of the guy asking me if I'm “lucky”? Does he think I'm such a bad fisherman that I need luck to catch fish? I happen to be a very experienced fisherman who unfortunately hasn't been able to catch many fish in the last few days… OK, this month… OK, this year. But luck? Who needs that with my uncanny skills?

My wife, Kathie, can attest to the fact that I know how to catch fish. She once threw a box of Mrs. Paul's to me — and no, not “at” me — and I snatched it one-handed from across the room. Thanks. (Note: I'll take this out of the column if I think of something better along the way. Just saying. And if you're reading this now, now's a good time to get out.)

Another question the guy asked me was, “What are you fishing for?” What? What do you think I'm fishing for? Kathie is home with a to-do list longer than Donald Trump's tie. I had to get out of the house.

I'm such a joker. Honestly, I fish for walleye, perch, bass and/or pike. It doesn't matter what or who takes the bait; the fish aren't smart enough to know what I want. I'll do whatever I can get.

Of course, I'll change the bait and location a bit if I'm trying harder to catch one species than another, but in general the St. Lawrence River has an open door policy and the fish have no problem mixing with each other. It's a shame that people can't do the same.

A quick digression from that last statement: Have you ever noticed that some people judge people of other colors based on the worst of their race and their own people based on the best of their race? That's nonsense. Amen. Let's move on.

I'm sure I've told the following story over the years, but the chances of anyone who has read From The Valley reading it again are slim, so here it is again.

My friend, spearfisher Dick, has spent his entire life on the river. He loves fishing. His favorite bait is a stick of dynamite. He throws it over the side of the boat and the shock kills or stuns about a dozen fish. Then he scoops them out and puts them in one of the many buckets he carries with him.

It wasn't long before Game Warden Warren learned of spearfisherman Dick's illegal fishing practices, so he decided to stop by Dick's house and see if it was true. It was late on a Friday afternoon and the officer found the fisherman outside gutting the day's catch.

After some obligatory greetings, Game Warden Warren said, “Spearman Dick, I heard that you have been illegally using dynamite for fishing. If that is true, you should know that the state could punish you with a fine of $20,000 and even a five-year prison sentence.”

Spearman Dick said, “Well, tomorrow is Saturday. I assume you don't work on the weekend. Why don't you come over at 8 a.m., go out with me and make up your own mind?!”

The gamekeeper thought for a moment and then agreed. “Okay, I’ll be here at 8 o’clock sharp.”

The next morning they met as planned and by 8:30 a.m. they were in the middle of the river. Spearfisher Dick opened his tackle box, pulled out a stick of dynamite, lit it and threw it overboard. “BANG!” The fish came up.

Game Warden Warren was stunned. He looked at Spearman Dick and said, “What are you thinking? I told you that anyone who throws dynamite out of a boat can be fined $20,000 and spend five years in prison!”

Spearman Dick casually reached into his fishing box, took out another stick of dynamite, lit it, handed it to the officer and said, “So, Warren, do you want to talk or fish?”

Nothing is better than a crowning conclusion, right?!

And this is what it looks like from the valley.