Secret place

These shots were taken a few years after the (trail) was cut for access to the river. My first new car, a 1968.

The water was cold and clear. The granet pools were deep and a ball to jump into.

When I was discharged from the Army, I bought a 1957 V.W. bug. Along with working at the Navel Air Station in Alameda, I did as much camping in the mountains as I could find time for. One of the places I went was on Interstate 80 at the Eagle Lakes turn off. I would go as far as I could, then backpack in for the solitude.
On one such trip I found what may have been an old fire break, or even an old trail from the gold rush days. Everything was very overgrown, but with a little work and a few trips to accomplish the task, I cut my way through. It saved me about four or five miles of hiking. I named it, Secret Place. The trail I cut crossed the head waters of the Yuba River. If you stayed in the riffles you could ford the shallows and go another couple of miles. Real Private and quite.
About two years later I was in the Fire Department on the base and some of us on our days off would drive up for a couple of days. The area has granite water falls that end in deep clear pools. Real cold also, like snow melt. A wonderful place to go. It was 1967 and 1968 then.

In 1992 when Karson had his learners permit I had him drive Garian and I to Secret Place and spend a few days. The trail had been discovered and turned into a road. Fording the river was still the only way to get into the back country, tho. As Karson started the water crossing he gave it too much throttle and dug the rear wheels down and we were stuck. It was only maybe knee deep, so I used the bumper jack to lift each wheel and put river rocks back under the wheels. Whoosh and we were across.
When we got to the end of the trail, we found U.S. Forest tables and fire pits. So much for Secret Place! We set up camp and the kids went swimming. They caught a whole bunch of crawdads so we supplemented dinner with butter and garlic over crawdads. Garian wasn't sure about crawdads. She popped one in her mouth, swished it around and decided, nope, not this time. I saw mountain lion tracks over the top of bear tracks so we had some target practice for awhile. That would run the big ones over the next ridge for a day or two.
Two years later Garian had her drivers permit. Karson wasn't interested in another trip to secret place so Garian invited Regan DeVinney to come along. As Garian was crossing the Yuba river, in the riffles, just like she should, we lost air in the right rear tire. I went back into the river, up to my knees and changed the tire. We had sheered the valve stem off on a rock. When we arrived at the U.S. Forest service picnic area at the end of the trail, we set up camp. We did the target practice thing, just because. We went swimming in the granite pools and hiked around some. The trip had a few differences ,tho. We had campfire songs, we told scary stories, we french braided hair and every sound from the forest ended with a scream. A little different than scout camp. But lots of fun. The girls were real troupers. Girls camp had taught them all kinds of skills.
We haven't been back for some time. Its probably paved by now with a pay as you enter gate at the trail head.

Where the buffalo roam

1971 quick attack squad.

As you drive up Highway 50 from El Dorado Hills, I'm sure you have all seen the herd of buffalo. I met their great grandfather some years ago. This is that story.

A number of years ago, around the mid 1970's a grass fire was fast approaching Bass Lake Road and Highway 50. It started around White Rock road. Everyone was scrambling to keep the fire away from homes as it approached our area. I had jumped into one of our quick attack squads and headed from Cameron Park Station to Bass Lake Road. The fire was just crossing the pasture on the south side of the highway where a couple of buffalo were kept. These were the years before wild land fire gear was worn by everyone, so I was in a blue duty shirt and black pants.

I pulled in the driveway of the home at the top of Bass Lake road, pulled a two hundred foot, one -inch reel line and was stopping the fire from running through the pasture. I wasn't going to stop the fire, but I could save the pasture and direct the fire around the home and out buildings. As I was running the fire line, I felt, more than saw ,the huge head of a bull buffalo that came up behind me. His breath was sort of steamy and he seemed more than a little upset about either me being in his pasture, or the fact that a fire was running through the stubble of his pasture.

When I looked around behind me and saw this huge head, and it was really a major huge head, I took my nozzle and gave him a quick spritz with the hose stream. He looked at me just a little startled. He looked at me for a few moments, like what did you just do? Did you just spritz me with you nozzle? I don't think anyone had given him a spritz before. He turned and trotted a few feet away near a small oak tree that was about six or eight inches in diameter. He looked back at me, then at the tree. With one quick twist of his head he uprooted the tree, then looked back at me. That was my clue to finish putting this fire out from the other side of the fence.

I pulled my line back to the squad, relocated and finished what I had started from the safety of being outside of his pasture.

Did I mention how big his head was? It must seem bigger when you can feel the steam from them breathing.

Rich, Me and the Mopeds

I returned from my seafaring days in 1962. After a week making pea box's I got layed off and found a job with Montgomery Wards in their repair facility. This place was really big. I started out prepping refrigerators and freezers for delivery. I was working with a Mexican kid named Rich. We got along real well and had fun no matter what we were assigned to do. When it got quiet prepping, we were sent out to deliver anything that had been repaired at the center. We covered the whole Bay Area, so we put on lots of miles.

One day our boss asked if we could start crating a bunch of mopeds that needed to be sent somewhere. The crates were pre-assembled, sort of. Kind of like crate kits would be more like it. Anyway,we started crating these things, and there were lots of them. I guess we started running out of time to get the job done. The boss asked if we could come in and work on a Saturday with overtime. You bet we could.

The next day was Saturday. The guard at the warehouse was waiting for us when we got there and checked us in. After a few hours, and we were making good time too, we thought it would be fun to ride these things around the warehouse. It was dead quiet in there. We were alone with acres of concrete floors. We got some gas from the shop and we started having moped races. Great fun. Did I mention that these things required oil to mixed with the gas? We didn't do that. So when the engines seized, we crated them up and gassed the next two for another lap. Who in there right mind would send two young guys into this huge warehouse with mopeds and no supervision? We got them all crated before quiting time and about laughed ourselves silly.

New bikes

Linda and I got new bikes for Christmas. This is going to open new vistas for both of us. Alameda is a flat island, so peddling around town is a snap. Dad and mom have never bought new bikes. Dad would pick up a bike and make it like new. Mine was a Schwinn with a front spring suspension. Really cool for the time. Check out my leather cap with goggles. I was right out of the Christmas Story. Dad put up that fence behind us after I just about hung myself on a pile of old lumber that was on the back lot a few years earlier .



I was at a gas station on Webster Street on my bike and was watching one of the attendants showing someone how to get somewhere. He was pointing to a map that was taped to the window. He showed where we were and then ran his finger down streets making left and right turns to get where he wanted to go. He even gave the guy a free map. How cool was that. I asked for a map for myself and took it home. The map highlighted places like parks and schools and stores and even showed where Fosters Freeze was. Some new adventures were about to start for me, my new bike and a map. First stop, Fosters Freeze for an ice creme cone and caffeine. Wahoo Whoo. I wonder if I would get yelled at if I road my bike through the Webster Street tube into Oakland? Hummm

Box tops and Submarines

We always shopped on Fridays after dad got home. We all had to go, no one could stay home alone, especially me for some reason. While we were all following mom and dad through the store I saw it for the first time. On the front of the cereal box was a picture of a submarine that could be mine for only four boxtops and twenty five cents. I convinced mom and dad that I loved that cereal. It took four weeks to gag down four box's of that cereal. Lots of sugar really helped.Linda and Dottie wouldn't touch it. Mom and I mailed off for my submarine. Only six to eight weeks for delivery.

Now when your nine or ten years old, you have no idea how long six to ten weeks is. It"s like two months. Everywhere I went I was on the lookout for the perfect little body of water. We had tons of little ponds over on the railroad yard. I checked each one several times to be sure they would be deep enough and clear enough for my submarine. I had dreams about how much fun it was going to be. I saved all the old cereal box's and hung them around my room, and read and re-read all the sales pitches about how much fun the little boy was having with his submarine. Whooo Hooo. I couldn't wait. It was killing me.

When the package finally arrived with my submarine in it I knew all my dreams were coming true. But after opening the package I was a little disappointed. How little it looks in real life. It was no more that two inches long. On the cereal box it looked to be a foot long. The picture even showed clearance lights on the front and back. In real life the lights were itsybitsey little pimples that maybe you could put a dot of paint on to make it look light running lights.

I read the instructions. I needed baking soda to put in the little compartment under the submarine. Then when it dives under the water the baking soda causes it to rise to the surface. Sounds good so far. I filled the kitchen sink, put the baking soda in the little compartment, and while the whole family watched I dropped the submarine into the sink. It layed on its side and fizzed, like it had gas. The whole family lost interest within moments. I battled the problems until I ran out of baking soda and my fingers pruned up. You couldn't make it dive without tying something to it. Then it wouldn't come back to the surface. Taking it out to the railroad ponds didn't sound like good idea any more either.

The only things I learned from this whole thing is, you can gag down lots of bad cereal with enough sugar and have great dreams about a toy that was made in Japan just to sell bad cereal to unsuspecting little boys.

My sisters

My big sister, all grown up. It must be about 1957 or so. A Suit with a plaid shirt. Who dressed me, anyway?

My little sister is even growing up. I don't know how she survived me.

Cute sisters. I'm glad we usually got in front of the newest car in the family. It helps.

1951 Mercury.

Is my little sister cute in this shot or what? I remember the sailor hat. I think it was dads'.

Dad built this boat first. It was a real show piece with natural wood decks with tail fins and a twenty- five horse Johnson outboard. Dad even built the trailer. You name it and he could build it.

Confetti and stiches

When you're six or eight, you make new discoveries all day, every day. One of my friends from the next block over was at my house and we were getting into anything we could. Robert Perata was my age; we started kindergarten the same day. I think he had more issues than I did about anything that was un-safe. I still think it was his idea when we took my dads push lawn mower, turned it upside down and while he pulled ,I made confetti by feeding newspaper through the whirling blades. What fun. We had confetti everywhere.

Did you know that my middle finger sticks out past all my other fingers? I didn't pay much attention until I felt a quick tug and the sound of a little thump as the end of my finger left. It started spurting blood and a funny little end of a finger was laying in the confetti. Rob took a long look, and so did I. Right then our brains couldn't put the two things together. The end of a finger laying in the confetti and blood spurting from the end of a finger on my right hand. Rob made some kind of un-intelligible gurgling scream and took off running for home.

Dad had to leave work and come home for a trip to Kaiser in Oakland. Mom had the bleeding slowed down and my finger piece wrapped up on ice in waxed paper when dad got home.

It only took eight or so stitches to put it back on. Now I have a weather forecaster for a finger. I can tell when its getting colder, or rain is on the way. Way cool for a little kid.

The Aunts and Uncles

Dad with Aunt Isabel durning the war years.

My dad has four sisters. I really only remember three. The oldest sister, Marie passed away while I was young. I do remember meeting her a few times. The other three I remember quite well. Aunt Alice and Uncle Al lived on a ranch in the little town of Clayton, California. Alice was sort of like a little house on the prairie person, a sweet farmers' wife who knew about things on the farm. A really fun place to have family gatherings. Lots of room to run and explore.

Aunt Weezey( Louise) and Uncle Ame lived in Oakland, California in a house on a quite street. Aunt Weezy has three daughters, all fun to be with. Weezy would have to fall into the category of the big city mom. Always well dressed and a great homemaker.

Aunt Izzy( Isabel) and Uncle Able lived in San Lorenzo, California. I'm pretty sure Aunt Isabel ran the home. I have a picture of her in uniform. She was a Marine during the second world war. I'll blame Uncle Able for teaching me to catch frogs and lizards at Uncle Al's ranch.

Dad has a brother, Clayton Grewe or also known as Uncle Bud. We didn't see him very often and I have very little memory of Uncle Bud. Only a few stories from dad and mom.

On a visit to Aunt Izzy, I can remember walking about three blocks from their home to a church activity, Catholic I think. It was a huge family affair, and it must have been a fund raiser. Dad and Uncle Able were about three sheets to the wind. (check the Internet for a description of that phrase) I remember standing close to my dad while both Uncle Abel and dad were bidding on something, and laughing like there was no tomorrow. I don't remember where mom, my sisters or aunt Isabel were at that moment.

Uncle Abel and dad won the highest bid on something and they were still laughing so hard I think they were crying. I still didn't know what it was all about, but in a short while we were all together and picking up the bid item. With a rope around its neck, we were heading back to Aunt Isabel and Uncle Abels home with a very small bull calf in tow. What fun for us kids. A pet bull calf, and in town, too. After much pulling and tons of laughing we arrived at Aunt Isabels' house. Somewhere, dad and Uncle Abel came up with some hay, and cleared out the garage for what we thought was our very own pet calf.

We went home that nite, but we returned the next day to move the calf to Aunt Alice and Uncle Al's ranch in Clayton. You should have seen Aunt Isabels' garage after just one nite! It was like way stinky with all the things a calf does after it eats and drinks all nite. Our family car at the time was a 1938 Packard four- door. Dad couldn't reach us from the front seat while he was driving. That was a good thing, lots of times. This car was huge. Dad took the back seat out and scattered straw on the floorboards. What fun this is going to be, or so I thought. Mom, Dad and my sisters filled the front seat. I got tossed in the back with my new pet calf and was told to keep him quiet and don't roll down the windows or open the back doors.

It was summer but in the Bay Area that didn't mean much, but as soon as you go over the Oakland hills and into the Walnut Creek Clayton area it got hot real quick. The calf did alright driving back through Oakland. People were looking at us with a calf in the back seat and a wide- eyed, little blond kid trying to keep his new pet calf from climbing over the front seat. Then we entered the Caldecot Tunnel. The calf really didn't like this part of the trip at all. While in the tunnel the calf let it all out. Cow poop and wee wee. I was stumbling in it trying to keep the calf in the back seat. About then I decided that I didn't like the back seat anymore, either. Now mom and dad were trying to keep me from climbing over the front seat. Has anyone ever noticed how much a calf slobbers? Lots!!

Did I tell you how hot it gets when you come out on the Walnut Creek side of the tunnel? Now add the stink of cow poop and wee wee, air conditioning was not even thought of, and we need to keep the windows almost closed so the calf doesn't do something stupid. Of course I'm also trying to climb over the front seat and escape. With more than enough yelling and pushing, my calf and I were kept in the stinky, hot, back seat until we arrived at the ranch. I lost interest in having a pet poopy, and slobbery calf and was glad when Uncle Al opened the back door and we both escaped into fresh air. The calf was coaxed into his new pasture and I headed down to the creek to un-poop my shoes.

I don't really know what happened to the calf, but I do know we had a few barbeque's some time later with family gatherings at the ranch, and there was talk about selling the Packard, especially on hot days.

Got a match?

So there I was out in Sagi, short for the name of my boat, Sagittarius, you know the winged horse thingy, in the sky. Anyway I was at anchor fishing for the big one. I really don't know what I was going to do if I really did get something really big, and it got angry. I always had my survival knife at the ready, and I kept a baseball bat on board. If you want to keep your hooks you have to reach around toothy areas, and it works best if they aren't too alert.

Thanks to my big sister I had learned to smoke. Dad's of course. Little short Lucky Strikes. So there I am at anchor with a baited line out, about a half a mile off shore from the Navel Air Station, Alameda, shark and sting ray country. And now its time to lite up a short one. Problem #1,it's a little bouncy out here. Problem #2, I may have a cigarette, but I don't have a match on the boat. No sticks to rub. No flint and steel, but I have a two- cylinder motor. I remove the cowling from the Mercury motor, pull one spark plug wire, move the throttle down to real slow idle and turn the motor all the way to one side. If I lean over just right I can hold the cigarette between my lips and hold the plug wire next to the motor and lite my smoke.

I yank on the starter rope ,the motor starts, but a little rough because one wire is off. I start going in circles because these old motors don't have a neutral. When they start, you start moving. I lean in and try lighting up. Other that shocking myself more than I like, all that happened was I burned little holes in the end of my one and only cigarette, I got a little dizzy going around in circles, and oh yeah, I wrapped my anchor line and fishing line around the motor too.

Looking like an idiot, I unwrap everything from the motor. It's still bouncy out here, and now I'm not facing the waves. New plan. I dip a rag in the gas tank, restart the motor and get zapped a few more times. I hate that. I just remembered doing that to my little sister once. She didn't like it ether. Well don't ask me why I didn't burn the boat down to water line. I couldn't get fire on this boat no matter how hard I tried. I was still at the age where I didn't need to smoke, I just wanted to. Years later I would realize how stupid it was to even start. I tossed my electrocuted cigarette overboard and went back to fishing.

Thank you Eloise and Neil for reminding me of this story.

Home alone

I guess Linda must have been thirteen or so, that made me ten or so. I can still see dad looking down at us and saying, "we will only be gone ten minutes, tops!" So mom, dad and Dottie hopped in the car to run up to the store. This is the first time we were ever left alone together. This is my version. Shena lured me outside and then ran back inside and locked the french doors behind her. These doors have square glass panels of about eight inches each. Shena then taunted me from inside the house while I was trying to open the locked doors.

When dad, mom and dottie got home, about ten minuets later, we were both in the house trying to stop the bleeding on my left wrist where I had pushed my hand through one of the glass panels, while Shena was holding her hand in a rag with ice because I broke one her fingers when I broke through.

The exasperated look on my dads face was worth all the effort we took in showing how trust worthy we had become at ages ten and thirteen. We had almost stopped the bleeding on my wrist and numbed the pain of a broken finger on Linda all by ourselves, without any help. I don't think dad would see it that way, tho. A short trip to Kaiser in Oakland had a splint on Linda and it only took seven or eight stitches to pull my wrist together. All my tendons and nerve endings were intact. See? we did good! We also were not left alone again for quite some time.

Superman and the tea towel

I guess I was old enough to look through comic books. I know I couldn't read yet. Dad was always building something, fixing something or trying to keep kenny from killing himself.
Linda, (Shena) has told me this story several times over the years. I think I was about five. That put Shena at eight.
It was the era of Superman. Dad was working on the house, Dottie was a baby and Linda was in charge of the neighborhood. Mom was in the house and helped make me Superman. On my T shirt she drew the superman symbol, then she tied a red tea towel around my neck. "sounds bad already doesn't it?"
Our neighborhood was old, but still had open lots. One of them was behind our house and it had a huge pile of lumber stacked up. Dad was always warning us to stay out of the lot because it was dangerous. That made it a magnet for us kids. So out comes superman to conquer the world. I had on my fastest tennis shoes, A big red S on my T shirt, and of course the red cape tied around my neck.
Linda took one look and asked, who are you supposed to be? Sillyman? That really helped my alter ego. I climbed up on the lumber pile and took off for a running leap, side stepping the nails that were poking out of just about every board. Off the end I went, and of course my cape caught on one of the nails. Linda was right on top of things. She held me up while yelling for dad. I can still see dad leaping over the fence. Wow could he run and jump when he needed to. At least for an old guy.
I know Shena probably saved my life, again. They say the age of reasoning is eight years old. After working on some of these stories I'm beginning to think most blond boys hit the age of reasoning at about thirty. My superman days were over. Dad took my cape off and the big red S on my T shirt didn't mean much all by itself. I know what I need. I had to look for a super hero that doesn't use a cape.

Store bought whipped cream

So my mom, Thelma had a real surprise for us after dinner. She had picked up strawberries and she had baked a shortcake. Mom had also picked something that we have only heard of. Whipped cream in a can that had some kind of a spray nozzle. Unheard of way back then. My dad, Harry had to be the first one to spray the whipped cream. Back then the little cap and nozzle had little tabs of some kind that had to be in place for it to work. Well Harry read about as many instructions as most men.

Off came the cap and snap went the little tabs. Shake the can like mad and point it upside down. "Nothing" "Harry what does it say on the can, Thelma asked. "dirty look inserted here" Shake the can some more, point it down. "Nothing"

All three of us kids are trying to be first in line. Dad is getting a little upset, but nothing will get in Harrys way when it comes to working out a problem. I think he tryed to look at the instructions without any of us seeing him. What happened next will go down in the history books of the Grewe kids.

Dad set the can down on the counter, picked up an ice pick, placed the pointy end down the nozzle and hit the top of the handle with the palm of his hand. Now we live in a real old house that has twelve foot ceilings with curved edges. The old lathe and plaster stuff from the late 1800s.
Ill bet if you went to the house in Alameda you would still find dried up whipped cream on the celling. Dad looked like Santa and us kids were all but licking the shirt off of him.

We all had a good laugh, and some of the whipped cream did get on the strawberries and short cake. The whipped cream we had to whip ourselves still beats the stuff that comes out of a can. I think of this every time I use the store bought stuff. My cat and I go through at least a can a week. I call him sugar lips.

The parachute

My dad would bring things home once in awhile to keep me busy. Once it was an old army helmet. This time it was a parachute. It was about 1953 and I was ten. The chute to me was really big. It had the shroud lines on it and they ended with a metal ring. Dad said something about making a tent with it. I thought to myself, tent? Ha, I just joined the Screaming Eagles, the 101st airborne.
I thought for a real long time, maybe ten minutes, about how I could tie this chute to me and float down to the ground. It didn't take long for me to tie the metal ring to the back of my pants and climb up on my neighbours garage roof. It was one story, kind of flat and ended on a gravel driveway.
I figured that if I folded the parachute just right and tossed it into the air as I left the roof, it would fluff out, catch the air and I would slowly drift to the ground. What great thoughts I have when planning an adventure. As I was taking off running across the roof I looked up at the bedroom window of my house, (second story window) I saw my big sister with both hands on the glass, screaming something. I also heard my neighbour, Mr. Olson screaming something about his garage roof, and what do I think I'm doing running across it.
I ran out of roof and I tossed the parachute into the air. I landed on the parachute. It actually beat me to the ground. My first thoughts weren't (I wonder what I may have broke) my first thoughts were, I need a higher roof. The chute didn't have time to fluff up and slowly bring me down.
Mr. Olson had a little talk to me about his roof. I tryed to explain that I used his garage because I didn't have a garage and my house was two story and too peaky to run across. My big sister was downstairs by now taking charge of her little brother and whisking me away from the wrath of Mr. Olson. I heard something about He and my dad checking the roof for any damage. My sister was trying to retire from being the supreme leader, (Shena) but I keep pulling her back into a leadership mode.
When dad got home from work he was met by Mr. Olson, and Shena. I didn't listen to what was talked about, I was only ten remember. I know my dad and Mr. Olson checked his garage roof, and dad checked to see if I had hurt myself. Shena had taken my official 101st airborne parachute and put it somewhere.
I went to sleep that night thinking about who has a roof that is two story and flat enough to run across. Meanwhile my dad is in my moms sewing room cutting the shroud lines off my parachute. My sister is still looking at me like I'm some kind of nut. My dad is also asking my mom something about the possibility of a next generation of Grewe's, and will Ken make it to his teen years.
My official 101st airborne parachute was turned into a tent, Shena didn't have a chance to retire with me around, and Dottie survived me, somehow. I found out later in life that the parachute dad brought home was actually the little chute that pulled the main chute out and assisted in deployment. "Who would have thought?" I just needed the main chute!

Saltwater fishing

So far all of my fishing has been in lakes, rivers, and creeks. My dad had taught me how to catch small things that live under rocks, or other bugs to use as bait, or how to use lures and such. Usually small fish stuff. But now I have a boat and the salt water is calling. We had not gone deep sea fishing yet, that will come soon.
I took one of the fishing rods and some of the biggest hooks we had and I loaded up my boat, all 7 feet 11 inches of it. My dad had an anchor for his boat that I don't think we ever used. It was a little big for my boat, at least I thought it was. It had about fifty feet of rope tied to it. Should be enough. I still had the 1 1/2 horse motor, so I watched the tides and wind as I headed out for my first fishing adventure in the bay. I had been on the estuary and the bay maybe two or three times, but that was just exploring.
I pulled the boat behind my bike down to the marina and put her in. I motored around the west end of Alameda and dropped my anchor off the sea wall off the Navel Air Station. My pole was a spinning reel with a pole about six feet long. I had stopped by Ralphs Market and bought some prawns to use as bait before I had left. Ralph himself said they would work well in the bay. The first couple of nibbles were exciting, but the first time something actually took the hook was really something. It bent the pole way down and the line just broke. This happened several times. No matter how hard I tryed I couldn't bring up whatever was taking the bait. It wasn't long before I ran out of hooks, weights and the line that was way too lite.
I put everything away, pulled up the anchor and went exploring until it was time to head home. When my dad got home I told him about what happened with my first salt water fishing trip, and he agreed that I may need some heaver equipment.
The next day dad came home from work with a rod and reel that work from a boat. Nice and short, strong with line that had to be at least fifty pound test. I couldn't wait for the weekend to come. The next Saturday morning I was on my way as the sun was coming up. Dad had also picked up some frozen squid to use as bait. He also gave me an official Navy survival knife. "I still have that knife"
I'm on the bay and heading back around the west end of Alameda, I toss out the anchor and cut up some squid. I have some hooks that look like they could be used as anchors. Their huge. I'm going to find out shortly why dad bought such big hooks and such a strong pole.
Again, a few nibbles. I check my bait. Something sucked it off the hook. I cut some more bait and really wrap it around and hook it really well. another few nibbles. I check the bait again. Sucked clean again. This time I'm ready. I'm holding the pole, the butt end in my belly, the boat bouncing on the anchor, a lite wind from the west coming under the bay bridge. I feel the first nibble. I jerk the pole back as hard as I can and something is hooked really well. Ar first It just pulls around to the side of the boat. Then it starts heading toward the back of the boat. Its all I could do to hang on. The anchor was set in deep mud and not slipping a bit. The reel starts clicking as the drag lets line out. The reel holds about two hundred feet of fifty pound test. I have my feet against the transom and I'm leaning back and trying to get whatever I hooked to turn so I can reel him in. I start pumping the rod and reeling. He's turning and starting to pull me sideways. The anchor is still holding and I'm tipping a little more that I like.
Holding onto the rod with one hand I pull the anchor in in jerky motions. Once the anchor is in I can keep this thing at least pulling me bow first. I still don't know what I have on the line, but my heart is really pounding. The movie (JAWS) hadn't come out yet. If it had I wouldn't be where I was trying to catch what I was about to come face to face with.
As I reeled him in closer the first sight of him was his dorsal fin. He was only about twenty feet from the boat when I could see the dull patches of color. A tiger shark, about eight or ten feet long. Probably 200 pounds. He had been pulling the boat around for about twenty or thirty minutes. He was tired, and so was I. I reeled him in closer, took my knife and cut the line. I lost a weight, some line, and two hooks. But I had the thrill of a lifetime. No way was I going to pull him into the boat.
Once I cut him loose I looked around to get my bearings. I was halfway down to Bay Farm Island. What a trip for a first catch. The next time out I would have a baseball bat with me. I did catch fish that we could eat, but I had the most fun catching sharks and stingrays. The rays in the bay had wing spans of eight feet and better. They were the hardest to land, and had the most endurance. There were times that I would take the fishing line and take a wrap around the bow cleat, sit back and have lunch. They tend to circle back. At first I thought I would be towed out to sea. Oh boy the life of a twelve year old. Shena would never have let me do things like this in the old days. She turned into such a girl. She was fifteen by now and not the least interested in what I was up to. Dottie was nine by now and was almost always with dad or mom.