2006 Fishing Photo & Writing Contest

Grandpa's Song
by Jason Jeffery

The sun shimmers in the sky, its warmth cascades across my skin, a feeling I‘ll miss once I go off to school. The boat beneath me rocks back and forth, lulling me into relaxation. Behind me my grandpa sits staring out into the water, singing the same song over and over again. When I was younger I asked him why when we go fishing he sings this song. He smiled wide with pleasure knowing he was teaching me something my father never would. He told me through the generations of our family, the men sang this song to the fish, thanking them for sacrificing their lives for ours, giving their bodies to sustain ours. The story was silly to me as a child, but every summer I went fishing with him, and every summer he sang the song over and over again, his mantra. I learned to appreciate this song, its rhythmic tune pulsing through my ears, enhancing the experience.

Today we sit in our small boat, our fishing poles in hand, waiting for a bite, a nibble, some semblance of activity to show us there is life beneath the surface. This is what I look forward to each year, these summer outings with my grandpa, these “little getaways” as he calls them. We never talk on the boat, otherwise “we’ll spook the fish” as he says, but the conversations we have on the ride here and back are always memorable. I learn things my father never teaches me. My grandpa doesn’t like my dad. As a child I always knew there was something wrong between them and the closer I come to being a man the more I understand what is wrong. My grandpa feels my dad is not making me into a man. Because of this, when I was younger my grandpa took it upon himself to show me things in life my father neglected to. Camping and hunting were always great with my grandpa, but sitting here in the water during the summer months is where the real lessons in life are learned. Patience, waiting for good things to come. Silence, enjoying someone’s company without the need for senseless chatter. Peace, being one with nature and enjoying all she has to give us.

These lessons are why I love coming here every summer with my grandpa, just the two of us and our boat. My grandpa leans back in the boat and pulls his hat over his eyes, still singing his song, his chapped lips repeating the words instinctually. Like clockwork, if too many hours pass without any fish making themselves known my grandpa takes a nap. Funny enough though, he never stops singing, that melodious song rippling across the waves. I sit back, pulling my own hat over my eyes and listen to the birds around me, the bugs buzzing along the reeds, and my grandpa thanking the fish. Something different happens today, something I never thought I would hear, my grandpa’s voice gets lower, going from a nice, audible tone, to a small whisper. If he stops singing we will not get a bite today, nor will I be able to relax, his song an important part of fishing. It will be hard to enjoy my fishing trip with my grandpa, the last one we have together before I go off to college, before starting my journey into manhood. As I sit here in my grandpa’s boat, I wonder if I should wake him, making sure his song continues.Deep down I know that is wrong, he is getting along in his years, and if his body tells him it is time to rest then he has to listen. If the song stops though, a tradition in our family will be gone, never has a man in our family fished without that song being sung in the boat.

I hear the song escape my lips before I even realize I’m singing, the sound of my voice drowning out my grandpa‘s low snore. All these summers sitting in this boat, fishing in this very lake, never have I sung this song. Never have I paid attention to the actual words that wove out of my grandpa’s mouth, never truly understanding what he said to these fish. But today those very words feel natural as they cross my lips. This is the summer I become a man, this is the summer the torch is passed.