I will never forget the late summer afternoon when my crazy Granny Tharpe proved that she was ahead of her time by having the top part of her left ear pierced. You know, just like all of the young folks do today. Only Granny did it way back in the mid-sixties long before it was cool.
It was different back then. It was a simpler time to be sure. Back then only women, pirates and a few unique people got their ears pierced. A lot of women didn’t even bother to go anywhere to get it done. You know back then they weren’t so flighty about everything like we are today. They were not quite so particular about being sure that everything was sanitary and the like either. They simply used a piece of ice to numb the ear lobe and a sewing needle to do the deed. Tie some knots in the thread and pull a knot through every day or so until it healed. It was as simple as that. But not my Granny, she was far too radical for that. So in keeping with her favorite pastime, my Granny used a number 10 fishing hook to pierce her ear
To be honest, if the truth were told, Granny didn’t actually do the deed. It was Grandpa who got the job done. And talk about radical, he didn’t even have the courtesy to ask her before he did it.
It all happened right before sunset out on Deerpoint Lake about a half mile from the Lynn Haven landing. We were in a couple of rented Jon boats and, as I recall, Granny and Mike, my brother, were in one boat and Grandpa and I were in the other. We had been fishing for bass and bream and anything else that would bite all afternoon with no luck at all. So about the time the sun was ready to set, when the wind dies down and the lake smoothed out, Grandpa decided to try another tack. He reached under the seat and pulled out his fly rod and reel. He figured, like any good fisherman does, that if one thing doesn’t work, you try another until you find the right combination that brings home the bacon, or bass, depending.
Now my Grandpa was born to fish. A rod and reel in his hand felt honored to be there because in almost any situation that rod and reel were going to look good, and today was no exception. The only person with more grace than that displayed by my Grandpa with a fly rod was his young prodigy, my brother Mike after he grew up, so instead of fishing I just settled back to watch and learn.
I received a good lesson in the art of fly fishing that day. I learned of the gentle strength that is needed to place that fly before the fish with only a faint ripple accompanying it. I learned of the mystical way that a true fly fisherman knows when the time is right to send that fly winging toward the prey. I watched as on the back stroke the line began to curl in upon itself and just before the opposing edges met they were snapped forward, straightened out and ever so gently placed upon the surface of the water. It is truly a beautiful thing to watch.
Well, while Grandpa was engrossed in his fishing and I was mesmerized in my watching, Granny and Mike were drifting. So in one of those quirks of fate, Grandpa with the simple flick of his wrist sent that number ten Marathon fly behind him, let it kinda rest in the air for a moment and with another flick he sent it careening through the air toward a particularly enticing ripple in the water at about a hundred miles an hour. Somewhere in the middle of the stroke my Granny got her ear pierced.
Now during World War II my Granny had worked in the shipyard as a welder and about the time that hook hit home she proved that she was equal to the task of telling that fly and her husband exactly what she thought of the whole affair. It wasn’t much mind you.
As you may recall, my brother was on the boat with Granny, and it was about this time that he began to question Granny’s moral authority for washing his mouth out with soap for saying ‘darn,’ but he decided that it would be prudent to let it pass.
It was also about that time that both my brother and I began to develop a love for fly fishing. It looked like a whole lot of fun to a couple of young boys.
So what is the moral of this story? Simple: Be careful where you drift!!
Tony Rowell
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