Big Brother Joe and a fishing story...
Back in 1942 I remember that K, Jake, and Joe were relegated to hoe. I tagged along to watch. They started chopping and Joe made a swipe and the hoe glanced off something and cut a big gash in his ankle. Blood went everywhere so K and Jake made a pack saddle and carried Joe to the coal oil barrel and soaked it in coal oil, the bleeding stopped and mama bandaged it with a rag of old bed sheet and in a day or two back to chopping cotton.
In 1994 after 4 heart surgeries I was forced to retire from working. About this time Joe and Steve discovered the art of fishing with punch stink bait. Frank and I had both retired recently so we began going with Joe during the week to Ray Roberts Lake fishing Buck creek. Joe always sat in the front seat, Frank in the back seat and me in the middle seat. Joe was left handed and threw with his left hand. Frank was right handed so here I was in the middle Joe throwing over my head from the left and Frank from the right.
Joe always put a generous amount of stink bait on his hook so about half of it never got out of the boat. The rest went wherever. A lot of the time on my cap, on my britches and one time he filled my ear hole full of this wonderful smelling concoction. The stuff had the consistency of baby dodo and smelled even worse. Between ducking Joe and Frank I could get in a throw ever so often. The last time or two we went I thought about wearing a raincoat but always forgot it and left it home.
When we went fishing we always took soured grain in a five gallon bucket to bait the hole with. It smelled almost as bad as the stink bait. We would dump some out in the channel and save some to bait under the boat after anchoring.
We tied up at our tree one day and Joe asked me to spread some under the boat I asked him where the coffee can was and he said I guess you left it home. I say no you left it. He says you ignorant pig you left it. So back and forth we go. You did no you did. Joe says just grab you a handful and throw it out. I say no way am I putting my hands in that stuff. Joe gets all his rods thrown out and I see him turning around toward the bucket so I think he is going to put the bait out. Wrong! He reaches down into the bucket and comes out with a double handful of grain and water and fills my lap full all the way down to my drawers. The rest of the day all I could do was fish and try to keep from throwing up from the smell. Of course Joe would sneak in a little snicker and giggle throughout the day.
Those last five years I got to know Joe as not only a brother but a really good friend and fishing buddy. I still miss him tremendously. I miss his phone calls saying “Is the little Fat Pig there?”
In 1994 after 4 heart surgeries I was forced to retire from working. About this time Joe and Steve discovered the art of fishing with punch stink bait. Frank and I had both retired recently so we began going with Joe during the week to Ray Roberts Lake fishing Buck creek. Joe always sat in the front seat, Frank in the back seat and me in the middle seat. Joe was left handed and threw with his left hand. Frank was right handed so here I was in the middle Joe throwing over my head from the left and Frank from the right.
Joe always put a generous amount of stink bait on his hook so about half of it never got out of the boat. The rest went wherever. A lot of the time on my cap, on my britches and one time he filled my ear hole full of this wonderful smelling concoction. The stuff had the consistency of baby dodo and smelled even worse. Between ducking Joe and Frank I could get in a throw ever so often. The last time or two we went I thought about wearing a raincoat but always forgot it and left it home.
When we went fishing we always took soured grain in a five gallon bucket to bait the hole with. It smelled almost as bad as the stink bait. We would dump some out in the channel and save some to bait under the boat after anchoring.
We tied up at our tree one day and Joe asked me to spread some under the boat I asked him where the coffee can was and he said I guess you left it home. I say no you left it. He says you ignorant pig you left it. So back and forth we go. You did no you did. Joe says just grab you a handful and throw it out. I say no way am I putting my hands in that stuff. Joe gets all his rods thrown out and I see him turning around toward the bucket so I think he is going to put the bait out. Wrong! He reaches down into the bucket and comes out with a double handful of grain and water and fills my lap full all the way down to my drawers. The rest of the day all I could do was fish and try to keep from throwing up from the smell. Of course Joe would sneak in a little snicker and giggle throughout the day.
Those last five years I got to know Joe as not only a brother but a really good friend and fishing buddy. I still miss him tremendously. I miss his phone calls saying “Is the little Fat Pig there?”
This was written by my husband, Chick, about his brother Joe Templin
posted by Sasebone at
8:35 AM
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