Hey Sam! Time To Go Plunkin'
Ivan R. Bosanko
August 22, 2008
HEY SAM! TIME TO GO PLUNKIN´
What does Sports Afield Magazine,Apollo 8 Mission, purple worms,Colonel Dave Harbour, Cape Kennedy, and Jesse Payton all have in common? Answer: The best day of catching lunker large-mouth bass I ever had. Let's see if I can still connect the dots.Yup, it's all coming back...December 21, 1968.
"I'v! I'v! Your dad's on the phone! Boy does he ever sound excited!"
My wife,Margie, handed the phone."Hey dad,keep your tv on! Too bad you and mom aren´t here to take this in! Must be over a quarter-million spectators here at The Cape! We´re on Merritt Island and we can still feel the the ground shake and see all the smoke plumes as the three-stage rocket gets airborne after lift-off."
The voice on the other end had other thoughts:"We´re thinking of flying down to spend Christmas with you, Margie and the kids.I hear Florida has some great bass fishing! See what you can do."
"Don´t you and mom want to hear about my big day yesterday? NASA put up a news- coverage shack just a short distance from Launch Pad 39.It was my job to turn over all our company´s lastest data and information to all the local, national, and international news media so they could prep for the countdown. Got to meet a lot of big-name tv,radio,and newspaper people. Then I proceeded to rattle off a list of names that´d fill any who´s-who-column.
"Yes,son, we´re so very proud of the part you and your company have played in getting those astronauts up into space. Now about lining up a fishing guide…"
While Astronauts Lovell, Borman and Anders orbited the moon to select the best surface for the next mission's moon landing, I searched the local newspaper for anything related to bass fishing, Two day's later, Margie, tried to solve my problem."But, but," I protested, "this is the smallest ad I've ever read! Just says fishing guide with a phone number! Nothing more!"
"Try it," she said, 'You're running out of time, they'll be here day after tomorrow."
I dialed the number, A soft voice with a slight accent, politely answered, "Yes I do a little bass fishin' n' guidin'... ain't been out for six weeks… been laid up. You'll be my first customers. Know where Kissimmee is?"
"Yes."
"Meet me at the Winn-Dixie parkin' lot at six in the mornin' on the 27th."
Promptly at six, the most beat-up looking pickup I've ever seen, entered across the deserted parking lot.Dad's attention was fixed on the sleek, new looking SKEETER Boat behind the pickup. I couldn't take my eyes off that truck! The only charitable thing I could say or think about it was it looked like a "bucket of rust resting on four tires." Right then and there, I'd defy any paintshop to tell me what its original color was!
The introductions out of the way, Jesse Payton turned right on the first gravel road we came to. A half-mile later, it turned into an obstacle course that was fit for Jeep travel only. Somehow Jesse dipped and dodged around the washboard ruts and chuckholes. Holding a conversation was impossible, everything in the pickup shook and rattled so badly that I thought about checking the mirror on my side to see what pickup parts were left in the dust.Fourty minutes later, the noise and dust settled, we had arrived at Zeke's Fishing Camp on Lake Tohepekaliga. Now I've seen rundown, weatherbeaten,wooden buildings all over America, but this was straight out of "Tobacco Road." A badly shingled roof supported by six wooden poles made up the open-sided structure. As we came closer, I could see where flattened out Prince Albert tobacco cans had been used on the roof as repairs. Zeke was camped out about mid-way under the roof next to an old rusty Coca-cola cooler. An old antique,hand-crank cash register rested on top of a cracked glass showcase. Inside the case, I could make out a number of fishing lures and supplies along with some candy bars and bags of salted peanuts.
Zeke rose from his tilted chair to greet Jesse, then retreated back to his position without a word to dad or me. He seemed more interested in not stepping on his companion,a bloodhound that was curled up next to his chair.
To get to the dock, Jesse continued on thru the store. He bent down on one knee and pulled hard on a rope holding an old tire which served as a bumper when boats were tied up.He threw the tire upon the dock,then did the same thing some thirty feet on down. He motioned for dad and me to approach."Ever do any plunkin,´ Sam?"
Dad hadn´t a clue.Then his furrowed brow relaxed. "You´re talking about casting, aren´t you, Jessy?Neither of us has for some time."
"Down here we call it plunkin´ … be back in a jiffy."
Jesse returned with two push-button casting rods. He pointed to the closest tire,then gave each of us a rod."You two need to practice up on some plunkin´ while I get the boat ready. Both you stand back ´bout thirty feet or so. When you can lay that lil´ lead sinker inside those tires,then we´ll go to plunkin.´ "
At first our aim was terrible, then both of us started to improve little by little. Arms folded, Jesse watched with a practiced eye as we continued to make good progress. He walked over to Sam, then slapped him on the back." Both ya done good! Well Sam, time to go plunkin´!"
With Jesse at the helm of his SKEETER Boat, it was truly watching poetry in motion. His boat had been rigged with a dual- set of electric foot-pedals. One set to run the big Johnson that skimmed us over the lake: the other to operate a small electric motor for working in quietly, close to shore. We shot past patch after patch of hyacinth-dotted water. About 100 yards from shore, he shut down. His ruddy complexion came into play as he grinned. "Hand me your rods… I´ll do the riggin´. "From his tackle box, he took out two dark purple,rubber worms, each about six inches long.
The electric motor barely hummed as we eased in toward shore. Jesse pointed to an old fence post with several strands of barbed wire still clinging to it.The humming stopped.He checked the sun´s position,dipped one hand into the lake,then touched his wet fingers to his lips."Looks like we´re gonna be here a spell." The same hand pointed to the post."Sam, you plunk down ´bout a foot in front…let your worm settle a bit…then crank in easy like…not too fast…give ´em time to go after the bait…"
Sam´s cast was textbook. Three cranks later, his rod tip suddenly took a violent nose-dive."I GOT ONE! HE´s ON!"
Jesse chuckled again and again."Bring him up next to me, I´ll land him."
For one solid half hour, the water around that post was beaten to a foamy, frothy,whirlpool of action and excitement. Jesse whooped while dad and I hollered ourselves nearly hoarse. Again and again and again, one lunker after another was hauled alongside our boat so Jesse could string them up.
We moved on to another part of the lake.Jesse never failed to use his three -step technique: check the sun´s position, dip one hand just below the surface to check the water´s temperature, and then put those wet fingers to his lips. The results were always the same: super hits by lunker large-mouth bass that turned and churned the water into frothy foam." We had the kind of fishing that all bass fishermen could only dream about."Time fer a sodie-pop!" Jesse exclaimed with his most satisfying grin of the day.
We sped across the water with Zeke´s store looming larger by the minute. Suddenly, he shut the big Johnson down so he´d be heard above the noise. "Gimme your worms! Now!"
Dad and I exchanged glances, then did as we were told. Upon approaching Zekes, we noticed three guide boats tied up to the dock with their fishing parties scattered about on their break. One guide hailed Jesse, then helped us tie up. "Good to see you again, How´d ya do?"
"Jus´ fair! Jus´ fair!" Jesse answered,"nuthin´ to git too bothered ´bout."
Jesss´s answer completely stumped us. Dad´s hard gaze in my direction had its implication: Now son, let´s not blow it for Jesse´s sake. He´s probably got his reasons. I decided to check out the "sodie-pop" cooler while dad paid Pa Jones a visit. I removed two orange sodas, then turned my attention to the showcase, giving serious thought to the last two bags of peanuts, regardless of how long they´d been there.
"Ain´t no back to the case," said Zeke."Took it off years ago…come around…help yourself. Left the cash drawer open…go ahead´n make change. Ill watch so´s you do it right."
I put a five dollar bill in the compartment that held three others, then turned to wait on Zeke. He scratched his head, the big transaction taking total concentration. "Two sodie-pops… that´s 60 cents…two bag´a peanuts …it all comes to dollar ten. Go ahead, I´ll watch."
I withdrew the correct change, then looked down at his bloodhound. The only thing that moved were those two sad eyes." What´s your dog´s name?"
"DAWG!"
I decided that Zeke and his hound were about as friendly as they were going to be. Dad and I sat down on an old bench to finish off our snacks. Then we walked back out to our boat,waiting for Jesse to join us." Suppose our fishing will be at least half as good as before?"
"Well, Dad, I´d be more than willing to bet that nothing will change. Jesse´s got´em all staked out, the only thing missing is their name tags!" We both laughed.
Jesse rejoined us. We knew that he was his old self once more by the words he used. "Well, Sam, time to go plunkin´!"
There could be only one superlative to describe the next hour´s fishing,UNBELIEVABLE! We not only picked up where we left off, we outdid the morning´s catch.Dad was beside himself, as he struggled to lift up the heavy string for all to admire."Hey, Jesse, how big do think they´re running?"
His slow grin came into play."Nuthin´ under two pounds…most look to be near four, with at least a couple that´ll top four ½." He cast a worried look to the west. We followed his concern, "Big thunderheads a´comin´…better head in before we get caught into something I ain´t ´bout to take on. Sam…sure hope you and I´v figure you got your money´s worth."
My dad´s answer said it best."We´ve never had a day like this…probably won´t ever come this close as long as we live."
Jesse fired up the big Johnson. Halfway across the lake, he veered to the left, then shut down. The clouds had turned dark. Off in the distance,we saw several lightning flashes followed by claps of rolling thunder. " We still got time…got something you should see."
"See what Jesse?" I asked.
He pointed to a small flock of ducks that were startled by something. "Those ducks are actin´ real skittery and fer a danged good reason! They´re being spooked by some large mouth that keep chasing ´em, looking for a quick dinner. Keep your eyes peeled, You´ll see!"
Boy did we ever! Suddenly, one mallard floundered badly trying to get airborne. It kept flapping its wings only to be pulled back and down. A mighty jaw seized its web feet. A few feathers were scattered, some wild quacking occurred, then a bit of blood appeared . The duck disappeared before two gaping on-lookers. Nothing remained of the violent struggle except a few widening circles on the surface. All was quiet, only the sounds of the approaching storm broke the spell.
Back at the shopping center, I handed my check to Jesse, then we shook hands. Dad did the same. Jesse hesitated, then spoke. " Those purple worms…I get paid to try out different kinds of bait…did´nt see any reason to say anything to the other guides… company´ll chose the right time."
The drive back to Merritt Island was done in silence as each of us were absorbed deep in thought. We reached the causeway which connected the mainland to the island before dad had his say."You know I´v,just once!, Just once, every kid who ever carried a cane fishing pole…or any person who ever went or wanted to go fishing should have a day like this…or go fishing with a guy like Jesse. Just once in your lifetime!"
The completion of The Apollo 8 Mission meant only one thing:Time to return to Seattle. In March,1969,my family and I followed more then 2500 scientists, engineers and technicians back to " The Evergreen State." For all of us it meant new jobs,new bosses, and new space programs. One day I happened to check our mailbox and was quite surprised to find the April issue of Sports Afield Magazine among the bills and letters. Dad´s note attached to the inside cover read: "Hey I´v,read the piece titled ´Super System For Super Bass.´ This Colonel Dave Harbour fella put his 30 years bass fishing experience up against Jesse Payton´s purple worms. Wasn´t even a contest! Jesse really smoked him bad! Poor guy finally changed over to Jesse´s system. If hed´a known what we know, he could´ve sure saved himself all the time and bother! This colonel guy sure gave Jesse his due, I´ll give him that! Great article! Read it, then call me. Dad"
For a number of years, Jesse and I exchanged Christmas cards. Like his system that never failed,all of his greetings ended the same way:" Say hi to your dad and tell Sam, time to go plunkin." Then his cards stopped coming. My thoughts often go back to that special man. I´ve been ever so thankful that our paths crossed-even for that one day. Oh, but what day! The best day ever for a father and son.
What does Sports Afield Magazine,Apollo 8 Mission, purple worms,Colonel Dave Harbour, Cape Kennedy, and Jesse Payton all have in common? Answer: The best day of catching lunker large-mouth bass I ever had. Let's see if I can still connect the dots.Yup, it's all coming back...December 21, 1968.
"I'v! I'v! Your dad's on the phone! Boy does he ever sound excited!"
My wife,Margie, handed the phone."Hey dad,keep your tv on! Too bad you and mom aren´t here to take this in! Must be over a quarter-million spectators here at The Cape! We´re on Merritt Island and we can still feel the the ground shake and see all the smoke plumes as the three-stage rocket gets airborne after lift-off."
The voice on the other end had other thoughts:"We´re thinking of flying down to spend Christmas with you, Margie and the kids.I hear Florida has some great bass fishing! See what you can do."
"Don´t you and mom want to hear about my big day yesterday? NASA put up a news- coverage shack just a short distance from Launch Pad 39.It was my job to turn over all our company´s lastest data and information to all the local, national, and international news media so they could prep for the countdown. Got to meet a lot of big-name tv,radio,and newspaper people. Then I proceeded to rattle off a list of names that´d fill any who´s-who-column.
"Yes,son, we´re so very proud of the part you and your company have played in getting those astronauts up into space. Now about lining up a fishing guide…"
While Astronauts Lovell, Borman and Anders orbited the moon to select the best surface for the next mission's moon landing, I searched the local newspaper for anything related to bass fishing, Two day's later, Margie, tried to solve my problem."But, but," I protested, "this is the smallest ad I've ever read! Just says fishing guide with a phone number! Nothing more!"
"Try it," she said, 'You're running out of time, they'll be here day after tomorrow."
I dialed the number, A soft voice with a slight accent, politely answered, "Yes I do a little bass fishin' n' guidin'... ain't been out for six weeks… been laid up. You'll be my first customers. Know where Kissimmee is?"
"Yes."
"Meet me at the Winn-Dixie parkin' lot at six in the mornin' on the 27th."
Promptly at six, the most beat-up looking pickup I've ever seen, entered across the deserted parking lot.Dad's attention was fixed on the sleek, new looking SKEETER Boat behind the pickup. I couldn't take my eyes off that truck! The only charitable thing I could say or think about it was it looked like a "bucket of rust resting on four tires." Right then and there, I'd defy any paintshop to tell me what its original color was!
The introductions out of the way, Jesse Payton turned right on the first gravel road we came to. A half-mile later, it turned into an obstacle course that was fit for Jeep travel only. Somehow Jesse dipped and dodged around the washboard ruts and chuckholes. Holding a conversation was impossible, everything in the pickup shook and rattled so badly that I thought about checking the mirror on my side to see what pickup parts were left in the dust.Fourty minutes later, the noise and dust settled, we had arrived at Zeke's Fishing Camp on Lake Tohepekaliga. Now I've seen rundown, weatherbeaten,wooden buildings all over America, but this was straight out of "Tobacco Road." A badly shingled roof supported by six wooden poles made up the open-sided structure. As we came closer, I could see where flattened out Prince Albert tobacco cans had been used on the roof as repairs. Zeke was camped out about mid-way under the roof next to an old rusty Coca-cola cooler. An old antique,hand-crank cash register rested on top of a cracked glass showcase. Inside the case, I could make out a number of fishing lures and supplies along with some candy bars and bags of salted peanuts.
Zeke rose from his tilted chair to greet Jesse, then retreated back to his position without a word to dad or me. He seemed more interested in not stepping on his companion,a bloodhound that was curled up next to his chair.
To get to the dock, Jesse continued on thru the store. He bent down on one knee and pulled hard on a rope holding an old tire which served as a bumper when boats were tied up.He threw the tire upon the dock,then did the same thing some thirty feet on down. He motioned for dad and me to approach."Ever do any plunkin,´ Sam?"
Dad hadn´t a clue.Then his furrowed brow relaxed. "You´re talking about casting, aren´t you, Jessy?Neither of us has for some time."
"Down here we call it plunkin´ … be back in a jiffy."
Jesse returned with two push-button casting rods. He pointed to the closest tire,then gave each of us a rod."You two need to practice up on some plunkin´ while I get the boat ready. Both you stand back ´bout thirty feet or so. When you can lay that lil´ lead sinker inside those tires,then we´ll go to plunkin.´ "
At first our aim was terrible, then both of us started to improve little by little. Arms folded, Jesse watched with a practiced eye as we continued to make good progress. He walked over to Sam, then slapped him on the back." Both ya done good! Well Sam, time to go plunkin´!"
With Jesse at the helm of his SKEETER Boat, it was truly watching poetry in motion. His boat had been rigged with a dual- set of electric foot-pedals. One set to run the big Johnson that skimmed us over the lake: the other to operate a small electric motor for working in quietly, close to shore. We shot past patch after patch of hyacinth-dotted water. About 100 yards from shore, he shut down. His ruddy complexion came into play as he grinned. "Hand me your rods… I´ll do the riggin´. "From his tackle box, he took out two dark purple,rubber worms, each about six inches long.
The electric motor barely hummed as we eased in toward shore. Jesse pointed to an old fence post with several strands of barbed wire still clinging to it.The humming stopped.He checked the sun´s position,dipped one hand into the lake,then touched his wet fingers to his lips."Looks like we´re gonna be here a spell." The same hand pointed to the post."Sam, you plunk down ´bout a foot in front…let your worm settle a bit…then crank in easy like…not too fast…give ´em time to go after the bait…"
Sam´s cast was textbook. Three cranks later, his rod tip suddenly took a violent nose-dive."I GOT ONE! HE´s ON!"
Jesse chuckled again and again."Bring him up next to me, I´ll land him."
For one solid half hour, the water around that post was beaten to a foamy, frothy,whirlpool of action and excitement. Jesse whooped while dad and I hollered ourselves nearly hoarse. Again and again and again, one lunker after another was hauled alongside our boat so Jesse could string them up.
We moved on to another part of the lake.Jesse never failed to use his three -step technique: check the sun´s position, dip one hand just below the surface to check the water´s temperature, and then put those wet fingers to his lips. The results were always the same: super hits by lunker large-mouth bass that turned and churned the water into frothy foam." We had the kind of fishing that all bass fishermen could only dream about."Time fer a sodie-pop!" Jesse exclaimed with his most satisfying grin of the day.
We sped across the water with Zeke´s store looming larger by the minute. Suddenly, he shut the big Johnson down so he´d be heard above the noise. "Gimme your worms! Now!"
Dad and I exchanged glances, then did as we were told. Upon approaching Zekes, we noticed three guide boats tied up to the dock with their fishing parties scattered about on their break. One guide hailed Jesse, then helped us tie up. "Good to see you again, How´d ya do?"
"Jus´ fair! Jus´ fair!" Jesse answered,"nuthin´ to git too bothered ´bout."
Jesss´s answer completely stumped us. Dad´s hard gaze in my direction had its implication: Now son, let´s not blow it for Jesse´s sake. He´s probably got his reasons. I decided to check out the "sodie-pop" cooler while dad paid Pa Jones a visit. I removed two orange sodas, then turned my attention to the showcase, giving serious thought to the last two bags of peanuts, regardless of how long they´d been there.
"Ain´t no back to the case," said Zeke."Took it off years ago…come around…help yourself. Left the cash drawer open…go ahead´n make change. Ill watch so´s you do it right."
I put a five dollar bill in the compartment that held three others, then turned to wait on Zeke. He scratched his head, the big transaction taking total concentration. "Two sodie-pops… that´s 60 cents…two bag´a peanuts …it all comes to dollar ten. Go ahead, I´ll watch."
I withdrew the correct change, then looked down at his bloodhound. The only thing that moved were those two sad eyes." What´s your dog´s name?"
"DAWG!"
I decided that Zeke and his hound were about as friendly as they were going to be. Dad and I sat down on an old bench to finish off our snacks. Then we walked back out to our boat,waiting for Jesse to join us." Suppose our fishing will be at least half as good as before?"
"Well, Dad, I´d be more than willing to bet that nothing will change. Jesse´s got´em all staked out, the only thing missing is their name tags!" We both laughed.
Jesse rejoined us. We knew that he was his old self once more by the words he used. "Well, Sam, time to go plunkin´!"
There could be only one superlative to describe the next hour´s fishing,UNBELIEVABLE! We not only picked up where we left off, we outdid the morning´s catch.Dad was beside himself, as he struggled to lift up the heavy string for all to admire."Hey, Jesse, how big do think they´re running?"
His slow grin came into play."Nuthin´ under two pounds…most look to be near four, with at least a couple that´ll top four ½." He cast a worried look to the west. We followed his concern, "Big thunderheads a´comin´…better head in before we get caught into something I ain´t ´bout to take on. Sam…sure hope you and I´v figure you got your money´s worth."
My dad´s answer said it best."We´ve never had a day like this…probably won´t ever come this close as long as we live."
Jesse fired up the big Johnson. Halfway across the lake, he veered to the left, then shut down. The clouds had turned dark. Off in the distance,we saw several lightning flashes followed by claps of rolling thunder. " We still got time…got something you should see."
"See what Jesse?" I asked.
He pointed to a small flock of ducks that were startled by something. "Those ducks are actin´ real skittery and fer a danged good reason! They´re being spooked by some large mouth that keep chasing ´em, looking for a quick dinner. Keep your eyes peeled, You´ll see!"
Boy did we ever! Suddenly, one mallard floundered badly trying to get airborne. It kept flapping its wings only to be pulled back and down. A mighty jaw seized its web feet. A few feathers were scattered, some wild quacking occurred, then a bit of blood appeared . The duck disappeared before two gaping on-lookers. Nothing remained of the violent struggle except a few widening circles on the surface. All was quiet, only the sounds of the approaching storm broke the spell.
Back at the shopping center, I handed my check to Jesse, then we shook hands. Dad did the same. Jesse hesitated, then spoke. " Those purple worms…I get paid to try out different kinds of bait…did´nt see any reason to say anything to the other guides… company´ll chose the right time."
The drive back to Merritt Island was done in silence as each of us were absorbed deep in thought. We reached the causeway which connected the mainland to the island before dad had his say."You know I´v,just once!, Just once, every kid who ever carried a cane fishing pole…or any person who ever went or wanted to go fishing should have a day like this…or go fishing with a guy like Jesse. Just once in your lifetime!"
The completion of The Apollo 8 Mission meant only one thing:Time to return to Seattle. In March,1969,my family and I followed more then 2500 scientists, engineers and technicians back to " The Evergreen State." For all of us it meant new jobs,new bosses, and new space programs. One day I happened to check our mailbox and was quite surprised to find the April issue of Sports Afield Magazine among the bills and letters. Dad´s note attached to the inside cover read: "Hey I´v,read the piece titled ´Super System For Super Bass.´ This Colonel Dave Harbour fella put his 30 years bass fishing experience up against Jesse Payton´s purple worms. Wasn´t even a contest! Jesse really smoked him bad! Poor guy finally changed over to Jesse´s system. If hed´a known what we know, he could´ve sure saved himself all the time and bother! This colonel guy sure gave Jesse his due, I´ll give him that! Great article! Read it, then call me. Dad"
For a number of years, Jesse and I exchanged Christmas cards. Like his system that never failed,all of his greetings ended the same way:" Say hi to your dad and tell Sam, time to go plunkin." Then his cards stopped coming. My thoughts often go back to that special man. I´ve been ever so thankful that our paths crossed-even for that one day. Oh, but what day! The best day ever for a father and son.