"Grandpa said Nothin's Closer to God than a Girl with a Fishing Rod"

Growing up, my dad has always told me stories of his grandfather, "Pop" Griffith. I never got the chance to meet him, but I know he was a great man and every time I go fishing I feel that Pop is with me. There are a few stories I remember my dad telling me on multiple occasions and I would ask to hear them again and again. The one I remember most is "The One That Got Away." One day Pop was fishing out in boat, doing what he loved. He got a fish on the line that put up a big fight and he was having some trouble, but Pop didn't give up, he fought back. He reeled and reeled, until finally the fish was in the boat. The fight was done. The fish did not get away, but Pop did, and he wouldn't have wanted to go any other way. My dad has many memories of Pop taking him fishing, and I know my dad looked up to Pop. He even became a preacher just like Pop was.
I started fishing with my dad when I was very young, probably 5 or 6 years old. He taught me everything, what snacks to bring, what bait to use, how to bait the hook, weight the line, and put the cork on. He taught me how to find worms in the backyard. He taught me how to tightline for catfish and how to set yo-yo's. He taught me how to cast a line, set the hook just right, and adjust the drag. Eventually, I learned that you don't have to re-cast every 45 seconds (in most cases), and that it is okay when the fish gets away. Most importantly I learned why they call it "fishing" and not "catching"
My earliest fishing memories were at Mr. Sam's ponds in Ponchatoula, LA and at Mr. Chronister's lake house in Arkansas. We used to go out to Mr. Sam's ponds and catch mostly catfish, my favorite. I remember feeding the fish, too. One day, I was nearly traumatized when I caught a turtle...I was so excited, I thought this was good. Then Mr. Sam just cut his head off without saying a word. I didn't know that this was the only way to get a turtle off of your hook. I started out fishing with a Zebco 33, just like my dad did when he was younger--except mine was lime green and orange. When we went to the lake house I would wake up as soon as the light hit my window, run downstairs, grab my pole, and go sit by my dad at the end of the dock. He had been there with his cup of coffee for probably an hour already, with a couple fish in the bucket. I remember hating the crickets because it was easier to hook myself--which was rough for a little girl like me the first few times. We would sit there and watch big Shoepick, or Buffalo Fish (not usually what ya wanna catch) come up to our bait, and my dad would dip the tip of his pole into the water to spook them off. We caught a couple small alligator gars, and I was a little bit of a scaredy cat once they came out of the water. The biggest catfish I have ever seen was one day out on that dock. I never felt something so heavy on the other end of a pole. I was struggling to reel it in and kept yelling "Get the net Daddy, he's gonna get away, help!!" But Dad insisted, "Keep reeling bud', you almost got 'em!" I finally saw the mouth come up out of the water and it was probably as wide as my body was at the time. One more crank...and snap, he was gone. My line broke and I was more than bummed, I'm pretty sure I cried and went inside. 10 minutes later I was back outside and Dad had my line fixed. That night we went to the nearest Bass Pro Shop (a tradition on vacations--we have been to almost all of them) and I got a new big girl fishing pole. This one was red, and we put spiderwire braided line on it, so I could get that one that got away (the simple 8lb-test-line I had before did not impress me). This pole eventually broke on another trip to Alabama, where I went to Bass Pro and bought an Ugly Stik (I recommend you get one if you don't have one), but that is another story that I will save for another post. Oh by the way, I now own enough fishing poles to open my own Bass Pro pretty much--including a hot pink "Broad Rod" that I won in a photo contest.
Another favorite fishing spot of mine is Pin Oak Mallards Duck Club in Rayville (north Louisiana), I recall comparing a summer out there to a summer at Disney World. I have never been duck hunting there (I know the Duck Commander crew goes sometimes), but I have caught some fish at that place, can I tell you!! Summer of 2007 or 2008 was my first time out at the Pin Oak Lodge. I had a blast riding around on the several fourwheelers on the trails and in the mud, Jeep, the golden retriever would either ride with me or run next to me the whole time. When it came time to fish on the big man-made body of water, I was ready. I had never really been bass fishing and was dying to catch some bass. Mr. Billy McConnel took us out on a little bass boat, and taught me the just of it. Some people never catch on, but I did, literally. About 10 minutes into that morning's trip, I was out-fishing Mr. Billy, a master bass fisherman, and my dad too. Cast after cast I was reeling them in. We had a few doubles (2 people have a fish on at the same time) and even a triple that day! And of course, I caught the biggest fish. We caught over 20 bass that morning, about a dozen keepers, at least 10 of which I caught. We didn't catch quite that many in the afternoon, but we still caught a lot! I was definitely "hooked" to say the least. That night we had a very delicious fish fry. Thank you Mr. Billy for teaching me how to catch some good Louisiana bass! Fishing is definitely in my blood!

Left to Right: Dad, his dad, Robert AKA Gramps, and lil bro, Russel AKA Uncle Rusty "New Years 1992. Lake Ponchartrain launched south of Ponchatoula. We had a box full in 2 hours. Hooking them in pairs and even scooping some that spit the shrimp baited hook using a long handled net. Lots of Yee Haws that day!"

How It All Started

Ever since I can remember I have been fascinated by every aspect of nature. The more time I spent outside or with animals, the more in love I fell. I would spend hours of daylight playing in ditches after a long rain, catching bugs, minnows, crawfish, turtles, tadpoles and frogs. I would sneak stray animals into the house and separately convince each of my parents that the other was okay with keeping it. I had rabbits, dogs, cats, snakes, ducks, chickens, the list goes on. We didn't live on a farm, but to me, we did. I remember every once in a while my dad would go with a friend on a hunting or fishing trip and I always wanted to go, but Mom & Dad said "not this time." What they didn't know, was that this little girl was born for this. However, my dad did take my sister, Rebecca, and I deer hunting when I was two years old. That was a bust due to me hollering "I see one!" or "I have to potty!" every two minutes. This is most likely why I never got to on Dad's trips anymore. When I got to go fishing with my dad, I loved it and would want to stay 'til dark, catching or not catching. It was a bit longer before I got to go hunting (and actually understood what I was doing), around 7th grade. My first real experience was coon (raccoon, for you yuppies) hunting. We brought a beautiful champion blutick coonhound, Blu, out with us and let her loose in the woods. While we waited for the dog to tree the coon, we built a fire to keep warm. We finally heard the dog and she had treed. Now, I was not prepared for the long hike we had to take to find the dog, and of course I had to pee. We killed the coon and sold it...I wasn't real sure about all of this, but I thought it was fun enough to go again and kill one myself! Then deer season came along. My brother-in-law, Tim, and sister, Rachel, took me out a few times and we didn't see any deer, but for some reason I wasn't ready to give up. One evening Tim and I were sitting in a box stand and nothing came out. As we got down he told me that deer are almost always standing at the bottom of the hill, and sure enough, two big does stood there and stared us down. It wasn't past legal shooting hours, but it was getting close and kind of hard to see out of his old 30-30 scope. Heart throbbing, knees shaking, I pulled the trigger..."did I get it!?" We rounded everyone up with flashlights and searched for blood, finally we found the bullet in the dirt. It was a miss. I had no idea that I had just become addicted to this way of life. The next deer I had the opportunity to shoot was a spike, with my Dad's crossbow. I heard the crunching of the leaves behind me and started going crazy inside. It walked right under my tripod, where Tim was sitting on the ground with a compound bow. They were face to face and surprisingly the deer was not spooked, he kept on walking. When he got to the fence line, he turned and looked, I shot. Long story short, it was another miss. Time passed and I finally had another hunting opportunity...my first deer, and my first buck. Keep reading :)