Snagley's uncle takes him fishing.
Fishing with my Uncle and cousin when I was a kid.
My great uncle would invite me and my cousin to fish with him one week a year when I was a kid. My cousin and I were a handful separately together we were horrible. I will give you the scenario of one such outing.
5:00 am Aunt Ruby gets us kids up we are 7 years old. We get dressed and she feeds us breakfast. Uncle John is out in the yard getting his boat ready. He got up at 3:00am and took his camper to the lake and drove back. Benny and I get up slip outside and rig the garden hose to squirt whoever turns on the water. Uncle John who is in his late 60s walks over and turns on the water and is doused to the skin. We watch as he dances his large self around and turns off the water. He never said a word, he just went inside mumbling to his self about kid now days and changes clothes, he then comes back outside. Benny and I have, of course, reset the hose. Uncle John is too smart for us this time and disarms the booby traps before using the water.
Then he loads the two of us up in the back of his ancient station wagon and we head for the lake. We fish from before daylight to about noon and catch a bunch of fish. Then we head back for a lunch of Vienna sausages and beanie weenies. I then climb into the boat and throw up. I did not feel sick; I did not show any signs before hand. But now uncle John has to clean Snagley barf out of the boat.
We go fishing again after the barf is cleaned up, again catching a bunch of fish. We get back to camp about 6:30 and have a rousing supper of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
We start a charcoal fire for some unknown reason and sit around it telling stories of fish and snakes and days of yore. This is the best part of fishing. I have found in recent years the experience can be enhanced by cigars and beer, but for a young Snagley that is as good as it gets. I still can sit on the bank of a lake and remember that night and the stories with unreal clarity 30 years latter.
We get ready for bed. Benny is sleeping on a bunk perpendicular and above Uncle John. I am sleeping on a table. I wake up the next morning to the smell of fried bacon and fried fish. I look up and Benny is tied to his bed. I find out latter that he fell off the bed twice so Uncle John lashed him to his bed.
I walk out and look at the sad remnants of the nights fire and touch my little toe on my foot to one of the old charcoals. When I stop screaming I had a blister on my toe about the size of a grape. I then walk over to the boat and barf in the boat again. To this day I still do not know why I chose the boat to barf in, but it did give Uncle John something good to talk about for the next couple of hours.
In the rest of the week Benny steps on a snake. Wasps sting me. Uncle John while trying to pee out of the boat falls out of the boat. He blames it on kids shaking the boat. The boat motor stops about 4 miles from the camp and we have to paddle and use the trolling motor to get back to camp, taking about 4 hours.
On the way home Benny and I got to ride in the fire truck back to the house after the station wagon caught fire. It was an awesome trip. I have tried to recreate this trip several times with no success.
And really folks this story is true.
My great uncle would invite me and my cousin to fish with him one week a year when I was a kid. My cousin and I were a handful separately together we were horrible. I will give you the scenario of one such outing.
5:00 am Aunt Ruby gets us kids up we are 7 years old. We get dressed and she feeds us breakfast. Uncle John is out in the yard getting his boat ready. He got up at 3:00am and took his camper to the lake and drove back. Benny and I get up slip outside and rig the garden hose to squirt whoever turns on the water. Uncle John who is in his late 60s walks over and turns on the water and is doused to the skin. We watch as he dances his large self around and turns off the water. He never said a word, he just went inside mumbling to his self about kid now days and changes clothes, he then comes back outside. Benny and I have, of course, reset the hose. Uncle John is too smart for us this time and disarms the booby traps before using the water.
Then he loads the two of us up in the back of his ancient station wagon and we head for the lake. We fish from before daylight to about noon and catch a bunch of fish. Then we head back for a lunch of Vienna sausages and beanie weenies. I then climb into the boat and throw up. I did not feel sick; I did not show any signs before hand. But now uncle John has to clean Snagley barf out of the boat.
We go fishing again after the barf is cleaned up, again catching a bunch of fish. We get back to camp about 6:30 and have a rousing supper of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
We start a charcoal fire for some unknown reason and sit around it telling stories of fish and snakes and days of yore. This is the best part of fishing. I have found in recent years the experience can be enhanced by cigars and beer, but for a young Snagley that is as good as it gets. I still can sit on the bank of a lake and remember that night and the stories with unreal clarity 30 years latter.
We get ready for bed. Benny is sleeping on a bunk perpendicular and above Uncle John. I am sleeping on a table. I wake up the next morning to the smell of fried bacon and fried fish. I look up and Benny is tied to his bed. I find out latter that he fell off the bed twice so Uncle John lashed him to his bed.
I walk out and look at the sad remnants of the nights fire and touch my little toe on my foot to one of the old charcoals. When I stop screaming I had a blister on my toe about the size of a grape. I then walk over to the boat and barf in the boat again. To this day I still do not know why I chose the boat to barf in, but it did give Uncle John something good to talk about for the next couple of hours.
In the rest of the week Benny steps on a snake. Wasps sting me. Uncle John while trying to pee out of the boat falls out of the boat. He blames it on kids shaking the boat. The boat motor stops about 4 miles from the camp and we have to paddle and use the trolling motor to get back to camp, taking about 4 hours.
On the way home Benny and I got to ride in the fire truck back to the house after the station wagon caught fire. It was an awesome trip. I have tried to recreate this trip several times with no success.
And really folks this story is true.
