This holiday season always brings bittersweet memories. I am very thankful for my mother and will forever remember the wonderful things she did for me and that we did together. But she died Thanksgiving week 13 years ago so all the memories are tinged with sorrow.

One of my favorite memories happened at our place at Clark’s Hill. It was the middle of a warm June day and I was taking a break after lunch. When I left our camper and walked up the hill to the bath house I saw mom fishing under the dock by herself.

A few minutes later walking back down the hill I saw mom fighting a fish. I got close enough to hear her talking, coaching herself, saying things like “Play him slow” and “Keep the rod tip up.” I stood by a pine tree for several minutes enjoying the scene before going to the dock and helping her land a nine pound carp.

Mom was totally happy fishing. She would fish anywhere there was water and didn’t mind fishing alone or with others. She and another lady neighbor used to take our truck and 12 foot jon boat to the local Public Fishing Area. Both of them were in their sixties but they would go out and fish all day. Dad fixed up a winch system so they could load the boat by themselves. I have a mounted 2 pound, six ounce shellcracker she caught in 1982 on one of those trips.

Another great memory also involves the Public Fishing Area we called the “state ponds.” Mom and I had fished for several hours, me casting for bass and her fishing with live worms for anything that would bite. We took the boat out of the pond and I walked out on the dam. In the spillway below the pond I could see bream in the pool of water.

Mom and I got our rods and reels and her bait and crawled down the dam to the pool of water. For the next couple of hours we caught bream after bream. We had contests to see who could catch the most on one piece of bait and who could catch the smallest fish. That was a tough contest since none of the little bluegill were over three inches long.

That was one of the many times I totally lost track of time while fishing with her.

Mom was deathly afraid of snakes but loved fishing even more. One day as we walked down to my bass boat tied up under the dock at Clark’s Hill we saw a snake slither off the dock, onto the boat and into the hole at the transom where the controls came out. I told mom there was no way I could get the snake out.

After thinking about it for a few minutes mom gingerly got into the boat. We fished all afternoon but I don’t think she ever completely relaxed. I knew the snake was happy in its dark hole and would not come out, especially with us moving around and talking, but I don’t think mom’s feet ever rested on the deck of the boat in one place very long that afternoon.

Many nights mom went out with me to check trotlines and bank hooks. She was happy holding the light or helping bait hooks. Several times we would bait up our lines, get out on the bank, build a fire and fish with rods and reels for several hours while waiting on catfish to find our set hooks. I remember sitting by the fire with her and talking about anything and everything, but don’t remember whether we caught anything or now.

One summer I found out I could go out with a spotlight at night, find carp in the shallows and gig them. Although I thought it was legal to kill a carp any way you could I found out later gigging them, especially at night with a spotlight, was not legal. We still had lots of fun.

I would gig a carp then raise it out of the water. Mom would sit on the back casting chair and would open the live well as I swung the carp over the side. I would put the gig over the lip of the live well and she would drop the lid, letting me pull the gig out while leaving the carp inside.

One night when mom opened the live well my dog Merlin jumped as I brought a crap over the side. She jumped right in the live well. Mom and I laughed till we cried at the sight of Merlin’s head sticking out of the live well, with a look at said “get me out of here!”

I am glad I have such good memories.