...and when's part II?
Dangit!
Oh, please.... do tell!!
Congrats, man.
But uncles? I thought it was Grandpa that's supposed to teach 'em how to fish...
Gimps and murder?
I, for one, can hardly wait...
WaterBoy is right, it's the grandpa's that do the teaching with regards to fishing. I have nothing but fond memories of fishing with my grandpa. My grandma would always make us a picnic lunch (with orange soda!) and we would go fishing - my brother even caught me once - just wait, it will happen to your boys too.
Now, why haven't you had them practice casting before you went fishing?! We used to love to tie on the practice casters and wing those babies across the yard as far as we could.
Jeb was already an accomplished caster.. but casting with a rubber weight on the end... and casting with a baited hook are not the same thing.
This is true- it's so hard to hook your brother with a plastic caster.
I have heard of people who can't catch a fish. Well no I haven't. My dad told stories of certain guys who would fish with identical methods in the same spot and catch 25% of the fish everyone else did. I have never heard of someone who could not catch one at all.
Probably helps your odds now that you quit fishing in the waste stabilization ponds.
This is true- it's so hard to hook your brother with a plastic caster.
Or have both your little brothers hook you at the same time and pull in opposite directions...
I think I got it figured out...
See, Nate is just so ornery that no fish would ever come near him. Ever. They smell his orneriness on the lure/bait and won't come near it.
But this time he had two fine lads who tempered the air of contraritude, and a fish finally bit.
Now, it remains to be seen how much of Nate's cantankerous nature will be inherited/learned by the boys, but it may well be that as they age the effect will return. So enjoy it while you can, dude.
Waterboy...that's as fine a hypothesis as I've heard. Even if it proves incorrect over time... I cannot fault the reasoning.
Problem is...that means in another 40-50 years...that'll be you driving around in the white pickup...
OK, that far into the future...the flying white pickup...
unlikely. There's no way I'll live to be 80... because when I turn 70 I'm going to start smoking crack (or whatever drug there is at the time) and riding super sportbikes... I'll drink and smoke and skydive... I'll hunt boar with a knife. I mean... so I might die.... so what?
Which reminds me of a joke...
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Sometimes you just have to ask yourself, 'Will I live to be 80?'
I recently chose a new primary care physician.
After two visits and exhaustive lab tests, he said I was doing 'fairly well' for my age.
A little concerned about that comment, I couldn't resist asking him, 'Do you think I'll live to be 80?'
He asked, 'Do you smoke tobacco or drink alcoholic beverages?'
'No,' I replied. 'I don't do drugs, either.'
Then he asked, 'Do you eat rib-eye steaks and barbecued ribs?'
I said, 'No, my other doctor said that all red meat is unhealthy!'
'Do you spend a lot of time in the sun, like playing golf, boating, fishing or relaxing in the beach?'
'No, I don't,' I said.
He asked, 'Do you gamble, drive fast cars, or have a lot of sex?'
'No,' I said. 'I don't do any of those things.'
He looked at me and asked,
'Then why do you give a shit?'
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Yeah, I know it's not Wednesday yet...but the timing was perfect.
I'll have you know that while shiftless I fish well. Always have
the affliction seems to be only yours and the elder brothers.
I feel you on the fishing thing. I couldn't catch jack crap, and I grew up next door to a guy who made a living catching catfish (before farming), alligator snapping turtles and trapping mink.
The first time I ever caught a fish was deep in the Sierra-Nevadas in a natural pond. My buddies and I caught so many trout that week I can't even stand the smell anymore. Those fish would bite on a blade of grass if tied right.
That's awesome! I remember catching my first fish..my grandpa was teaching me how. I hated touching the worm..and piercing the hook, but the fish I caught happened to be a rock bass. I was freaked out as it was flopping around in the boat. I wouldn't touch it. I held it wrong so the fins kept pricking me..and well..after a long while, my grandpa gave up and threw it away himself. To this day, they don't let me live that down.
We got some pike though.."prehistoric motherfuckers" as a relative of mine calls them. Big teeth on them apparently.
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