About 10 years ago, while still living in Illinois, I received a wonderful gift.
I have an uncle, my mother's brother, who has always lived in the city of Chicago. Uncle Bob, who is now in his upper 80s, decided that he was going to retire his fishing pole. During his younger years he didn't develop an interest in golf and he wasn't into spectator sports, but he loved to fish and hunt. I suppose that he began fishing as a child and, as with many of us who enjoy the pastime, it stayed with him.
Like most kids who were raised during the lean times of the Depression, Uncle Bob started working at an early age. One of his first jobs was as a pin boy in a bowling alley during the winter months. For those not old enough to remember, a pin boy was the person who set the bowling pins back up after a bowler rolled his ball down the alley. It was hard, backbreaking work and he made only 50 cents a day, but he was grateful to get it at the time.
During summer vacations in his high school years, he ventured off to northern Wisconsin to help other family members build a rustic log cabin on a remote lake near Lac Du Flambeau. Electricity wasn't available in that area and all the carpentry was done with hand tools, muscle and hard work.
It was there that he honed his skills fishing for pike, walleye and the elusive muskie. They fished not only for the sport, but to put food on the table. Needless to say, they ate a lot of fish.
Those happy, carefree summers in northern Wisconsin ended with the onset of World War II and Uncle Bob went off on a government-paid tour of Europe. He landed in France and ended up walking all the way to Germany, with a few side trips including Austria and Poland. When the war ended, he looked forward to returning to the North woods. Few of his friends or family knew what he went through, and many years passed before he was willing to share some of his wartime experiences with us.
It wasn't until the 1950s that I was old enough to join my dad and Uncle Bob on their fishing trips Up North. I was just a kid, but I felt like one of the men on those bear-filled tenting adventures. It was on those expeditions that I learned how to fish with a bait-casting rod rather than a cane pole.
Both my dad and Uncle Bob had impressive tackle boxes that they always kept organized and well stocked with the latest lures and supplies. I was thankful that they generously shared their equipment with me, as I didn't have my own tackle box yet.
The wonderful gift that I mentioned was Uncle Bob's tackle box. Since he no longer fished, he wanted to pass it on to me. I never expected to receive it, which made the gift all the more special. I can remember opening it for the first time. It was like going through a fishing tackle museum.
In it there were famous lures made by Heddon, South Bend, Creek Chub and Daredevil, plus reels by Shakespeare and Pflueger. The cork-lined tray compartments contained hooks, lead sinkers, brass swivels, several bobbers and numerous odds and ends. His favorite pocketknife and compass were there along with a stringer, fish scaler and, of course, a bottle of 6-12 Insect Repellent. Uncle Bob had everything one would need in his tackle box, along with his old fishing licenses from the trips we took together.
Poking around in that old box brought back many a memory for me and I felt honored to have been chosen to receive it.
I don't actually use the equipment that is in that box. Most of it would be difficult to replace if lost in our lake. Instead, I keep it with the rest of my gear in a nice dry place.
Sometimes on a cold and wet winter day, when I am longing to be out on the lake fishing, I open up that old tackle box. Looking at the treasures contained therein brings back many memories of good times, days gone by, and the outdoor adventures we shared together.
Reach Ed Hungness at edhungness@yahoo.com or care of the Record-Eagle.
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