I took this picture a couple years ago, just came across it. Thought some of you young whippersnappers might like to see how we did it "yesterday" 
Yesterday
- Thread starter bowriter
- Start date
easy45
Well-Known Member
good pic
WG Taxidermist
Well-Known Member
Cool pic! I really like the old fishing equipment.
Thicketmaster
Well-Known Member
thats my favorite topwater bait the devils horse.
stik
Well-Known Member
is that an old steel rod?
Awesome picture Bowriter.
JohnnyBond
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- Jan 16, 2008
- Messages
- 35,246
Yes that is a stell rod.
AllOutdoors
Well-Known Member
reminds me of my grandpa. The tackle box, fishing pole, reel, and lure. His was usually the old blue broom handle woodchopper which I have 2 of today. Both were his on course.
LA man
Well-Known Member
cool pic, i bet its a few years old
cdw338
Well-Known Member
I still have a fluger reel and a steel rod form the 1940's. I also have a colman stove and lantern form the 1940's also.
buckhorn40
Well-Known Member
Devils Horse!!!!!
I can't tell if that's a steel fishing rod or not?
I had one of those once... was crossing an electrified barbed wire fence when a fish guide hunt on a barb.
In the ensuing excitement my middle finger got stuck between the reel and rod handle. I didn't think I was ever going to manage to let the damn thing go.
I had one of those once... was crossing an electrified barbed wire fence when a fish guide hunt on a barb.
In the ensuing excitement my middle finger got stuck between the reel and rod handle. I didn't think I was ever going to manage to let the damn thing go.
R- Yes it is steel. I would have loved to have seen that. )
I saw a guy hit a elec. fence with a rifle barrel one time. He won the olympic rifle throw.
)I saw a guy hit a elec. fence with a rifle barrel one time. He won the olympic rifle throw.
Football Hunter
Well-Known Member
very good quality old pic
Str8Shooter
Well-Known Member
cool
I wrote this story to run with the picture. Thought you might like to read it and see how a picture can inspire a story.
12-29-10 Copyright John L. Sloan This is the story that ran with that picture.
Old But Still Usable.
Somewhere a turkey gobbled.
Somewhere a crow went nuts over something.
Somewhere a bass announced his desire to feed.
He leaned back against the tree and finished sharpening the point on the toothpick he was whittling from a willow branch. The sun felt good on his face and the two bass, each about a pound and a half, finned in the water, securely attached to his stringer. At some point later that day, they would become supper. He had released all the others he caught.
It had been a good morning. Not only had he caught plenty of fish, he did it the old way. He used his father�s rod and one of the old, wooden propeller lures that had been in the ancient tackle box for who knows how long. The bass had moved in shallow to spawn and the buck bass were protecting the beds and feeding on the bream fry. He had even gotten some exercise walking the bank, casting to the shady spots and around the submerged stumps.
Being retired had turned into a lot harder work than he had figured on. There were so many decisions to make. Would he take the boat to the big lake? Would he walk the bank of the small lake behind the house? Would he fish for bream, crappie or bass? He quickly discarded working in the garden. That came under the heading of work to be put off until it was cooler. Today was overly warm for a spring day.
The air was redolent with the smell of honeysuckle and bees buzzed around doing what bees do. He looked again at his fishing tackle leaning against the tree. He wished he knew the stories behind the old, metal rod and the reel. The Devil Horse lure had some cracks in the paint but the hooks were still sharp and the prop worked like new. He could not remember a time when the rod and reel and tackle box had not been in the garage of the now gone farmhouse. When Pap died, it became his, along with the shotguns, rifles, and well�everything.
A few years before Martha had passed on, he tore the old house down and built one just the way they wanted it. He had a room for himself. Martha had her �sewing� room and they had a spare bedroom in case one of the kids decided to spend the night. They added bunk beds as the grandkids started spending the night and a screened porch.
He looked off into the distance. It was on the screened porch he had found Martha. He thought she had just dozed off in big recliner they had moved out onto the porch so she could �see things�. She just went to sleep he liked to think. He hoped he would go that way, too.
He had no idea why he decided to use the old stuff today. He was even surprised that the black line on the old reel was still sound. He didn�t give it much thought, just pulled on a pair knee-high boots, picked up the equipment and walked down to the lake. Probably, he grinned, he gave it as much thought as Pap had when he named him Tom. Pap probably never heard of a Tom Collins. Therefore, he went through most of his adult life with the nickname �Drink�.
He had started on the low end of the lake and just worked his way up the bank. It took several casts for him to get use to the old reel. A confirmed open face spinning reel man, he was not use to a reel that required a delicate touch in thumbing the spool. He spent several minutes untangling professional
overcasts. After a bit he got the hang of it and started catching bass, nothing big, just fun fish.
As he came back toward the house, he felt reluctant to call it a morning. He staked out his two eating bass and sat down under the huge red oak Martha had named Whittier. She explained it fit with John Greenleaf. He finally figured it out.
Some cattle egrets soared by and he breathed deeply of the warm, scented air and smiled at the nasty birds. He looked again at the rod and tackle box and the ancient lure. Like me thought, old but still usable.
###
Cutlines:
#1- Old but still usable.
12-29-10 Copyright John L. Sloan This is the story that ran with that picture.
Old But Still Usable.
Somewhere a turkey gobbled.
Somewhere a crow went nuts over something.
Somewhere a bass announced his desire to feed.
He leaned back against the tree and finished sharpening the point on the toothpick he was whittling from a willow branch. The sun felt good on his face and the two bass, each about a pound and a half, finned in the water, securely attached to his stringer. At some point later that day, they would become supper. He had released all the others he caught.
It had been a good morning. Not only had he caught plenty of fish, he did it the old way. He used his father�s rod and one of the old, wooden propeller lures that had been in the ancient tackle box for who knows how long. The bass had moved in shallow to spawn and the buck bass were protecting the beds and feeding on the bream fry. He had even gotten some exercise walking the bank, casting to the shady spots and around the submerged stumps.
Being retired had turned into a lot harder work than he had figured on. There were so many decisions to make. Would he take the boat to the big lake? Would he walk the bank of the small lake behind the house? Would he fish for bream, crappie or bass? He quickly discarded working in the garden. That came under the heading of work to be put off until it was cooler. Today was overly warm for a spring day.
The air was redolent with the smell of honeysuckle and bees buzzed around doing what bees do. He looked again at his fishing tackle leaning against the tree. He wished he knew the stories behind the old, metal rod and the reel. The Devil Horse lure had some cracks in the paint but the hooks were still sharp and the prop worked like new. He could not remember a time when the rod and reel and tackle box had not been in the garage of the now gone farmhouse. When Pap died, it became his, along with the shotguns, rifles, and well�everything.
A few years before Martha had passed on, he tore the old house down and built one just the way they wanted it. He had a room for himself. Martha had her �sewing� room and they had a spare bedroom in case one of the kids decided to spend the night. They added bunk beds as the grandkids started spending the night and a screened porch.
He looked off into the distance. It was on the screened porch he had found Martha. He thought she had just dozed off in big recliner they had moved out onto the porch so she could �see things�. She just went to sleep he liked to think. He hoped he would go that way, too.
He had no idea why he decided to use the old stuff today. He was even surprised that the black line on the old reel was still sound. He didn�t give it much thought, just pulled on a pair knee-high boots, picked up the equipment and walked down to the lake. Probably, he grinned, he gave it as much thought as Pap had when he named him Tom. Pap probably never heard of a Tom Collins. Therefore, he went through most of his adult life with the nickname �Drink�.
He had started on the low end of the lake and just worked his way up the bank. It took several casts for him to get use to the old reel. A confirmed open face spinning reel man, he was not use to a reel that required a delicate touch in thumbing the spool. He spent several minutes untangling professional
overcasts. After a bit he got the hang of it and started catching bass, nothing big, just fun fish.
As he came back toward the house, he felt reluctant to call it a morning. He staked out his two eating bass and sat down under the huge red oak Martha had named Whittier. She explained it fit with John Greenleaf. He finally figured it out.
Some cattle egrets soared by and he breathed deeply of the warm, scented air and smiled at the nasty birds. He looked again at the rod and tackle box and the ancient lure. Like me thought, old but still usable.
###
Cutlines:
#1- Old but still usable.
huntwriter
Well-Known Member
Great story. And here I thought I am insane. Whenever I run out of ideas for my newspaper column I look at pictures to get inspired. Many times a picture has inspired a column when nothing else would. Often they become the "readers favourite".
