FISHING BUDDIES

Most everybody can claim that their dad taught them how to fish, and how grateful

they are that their dad took the time to spend a few hours with them along a river bank enjoying the great outdoors. That is not what this article is about.

This article is about friends, or better yet said.... fishing buddies.

(Pete, Pat, Bob, Don, Jack)

As a child growing up, I can remember my dad and his friends gathering in the basement of our house every Monday night to play a card game they called Pitch. The console TV would be blaring the Monday Night Football game, the entire house was filled with laughter, curse words, dirty name calling, bad jokes, and the smell of beer and cigarettes. It was a time that seems to have been forgotten.

Still, this is not what this article is about. This article is about fishing buddies. You see, these same card pitching, foul mouthed friends were also dad's fishing buddies. These guys were friends and fishing buddies for decades. Nobody ever got kicked out of this circle of friends, nobody got tired of it and stopped showing up, and nobody ever moved away. It was "Same Bat Channel... Same Bat Time", always. I love these guys! They are family.

Unfortunately, life plays it's little game and I have sadly watched this tight knit group of friends dwindle down as time passes and takes them away one by one. The fishing days for those who remain has pretty much come to an end due to age and health issues, but they still try very hard to this day to meet once a week in a basement and pitch cards on the table, tell fish stories, dirty jokes and curse. The beer drinking has changed to sucking on a bottle of water, and the cigarette smoking has changed to chewing on candy. So, I guess this article is about my dad teaching me the importance of making fishing buddies for life.

About 43 years ago, at about the age of 12, my dad took me wading for the first time on the Kishwaukee River. We were crossing the river in a very fast rapid area and as i got about half way across I could feel my feet starting to slip out from under me. I was fighting for a foot hold, but the soles of my river shoes slipped on every rock with each and every attempt to stable myself. I was going to go down and I wasn't sure if I would live to see another day. I was scared. All of a sudden from out of nowhere a large hand grasped me firmly around my forearm and pulled me to safer more calmer water. We looked at each other, I regained my composure and then we began to fish.

Thanks Dad!

Thanks for showing me the adventure and excitement of river wade fishing and for

being my buddy.

Ronald Patrick Dodge 3/17/37 - 4/6/16

Written By Terry Dodge