ILIKE FISHING for trout . . . especially brook trout. Putting around a lake or pond at trolling speed is fun and can be relaxing, but I’m easily bored. I’ve always had a short span of attention. I guess that’s why I prefer to pull on the hip boots and work my way down a fast moving stream. I’m also partial to using worms for bait. Some purists feel like fly fishing is a classier and more “sporting” way to catch fish. I find that trout taste just as good when caught with a worm on a hook. Fly fishermen look good; I’d rather eat well.

The area around Smallville where I grew up is hilly . . . mountain country, actually. Consequently, every brook and stream is just teeming with squaretails. There’s nothing like wading down a stretch of fast moving water, wondering what kind of deep hole lies around the next corner. Plus, I feel like I’m contributing to the natural cycle of the food chain. I’m fishing for food, while the smart trout are steeling my worms for sustenance, and I’m providing a meal for the hundreds of hungry mosquitoes.

Some of my buddies prefer to troll around in a boat. They say it’s because they can catch bigger fish that way, and I suppose that’s true. I’ve gone with them at times and we’ve usually spent hours without so much as a bite. I’m pretty sure Barnie and Roy like the lake fishing because it’s conducive to drinking beer. They don’t often catch trout, but they always catch a buzz!

Some of you might have heard of my Uncle Herbert. He wasn’t much of a sport; he fished for food and paid little attention to the regulations of the Department of Fish & Wildlife. Consequently, the local game wardens kept an eye on him.

The story goes that one Saturday morning Uncle Herbert was putting his twelve foot jon boat into Pickle Pond when Warden Dain Eldridge arrived at the boat launch.

“You gonna play by the rules today, Herbert?” Warden Eldridge asked.

“Of course I am, Dain. You know I always do.” He grinned, exposing this three tobacco stained teeth.

“Then, I guess you won’t mind if I join you in your boat,” the Warden replied with a grin.

“Suit yourself, Dain. Just make sure you bring a life jacket; it’s the law.”

Uncle Herbert hadn’t been on the lake for thirty minutes when he decided the fishing was too slow, so he moved on from Plan A to Plan B. He laid his spinning rod on the bottom of the boat and reached into his tackle box, from which he retrieved a small stick of dynamite. With little fanfare, he lit the fuse, tossed the explosive overboard, and reached for his long-handled net.

Within seconds, the fishermen felt a rumble under the boat and my Uncle was scooping dozens of trout out of Pickle Pond and into his boat.

Warden Eldridge, of course, was appalled at Uncle Hubert’s blatant disregard for the law and his authority.

“Herbert, what in the world are you thinking? You know you can’t use explosives to kill fish. You know damn well I’m going to have to arrest you. You’re gonna lose your license and pay a big fine. Have you lost your mind?”

Uncle Herbert didn’t answer right away. Instead, he calmly reached into his tackle box, lit another stick of dynamite, and handed it to the Warden.

“Now Dain, are you going to talk or are you going to fish?”

To comment on this article or to read Joe’s previous Thoughts, log onto http://www.avgjoewright.blogs pot.com