The Old Man At The Pond

I can remember that day like it had happened yesterday. My grandpa had taken my siblings and me to do some pond fishing instead of our normal creek fishing routine. The reason being was because my youngest siblings had decided to come along and they were not used to constantly moving through brush without getting bored or tired.

We pulled up to the pond and hopped out of the pickup. I glanced around, checking out my surroundings, they looked the same they had the last time we had been there. The area was a large clearing that looked like a large lopsided oval surrounded by trees. Off to the right of the pond was the dirt road we had just come off of and if you turned in a circle there was a meadow surrounding the pound inside the ring of trees. The only thing that was different was on opposite sides of the pond were two trailer campers, one on the side we parked and the other across the way. They were from people who had rented the spot from the timber company that owned the land but the people were not around as far as I could tell.

I went to work, assembling my pole, feeling a bit awkward as I worked. I was not used to the style of a lake or pond fishing pole, even though I used to go with my dad when I was younger, relearning to cast was still difficult. I was more used to creek fishing, which was harder than pond or lake fishing for several reasons but more fun to me.

With creek fishing you used a fly pole, it was easy to carry through the brush without getting caught, its long length played a big role in this, you simply held it so it was trailing behind you. But it was difficult to cast without getting the line tangled in brush every time because it was harder to control once it was in front of you. But when you found a good spot on the creek, to cast you gently swung the line back and forth till it fell into the desired spot. Or, you could put the line in the water and pull it out of the reel, letting the current carry it downstream. If you caught nothing, you could keep moving up or downstream until you started getting hits. It was definitely less boring than sitting in one spot on the lake or pond till something bit. Granted, you did get bigger fish usually, but creek fishing was a good way to let yourself think and let out your anger on the brush that scratched your face or snagged your clothing. Some days it did sound nice to sit still and just think, but sometimes you need to let things out.

Anyway, I cast my line out into the pond, not doing too bad after a week or so of practice. I squatted down feeling too lazy to stand and watched the bobber closely. My grandpa’s German Shepherd, Sol, started barking wildly and I turned to yell at him to shut up when I heard the distant sound of a pickup. I turned to look and saw it coming off the road to the right of me and into the clearing, up to the camper across the pond from us. I looked away and went back to what I was doing.

After a few minutes, Sol started barking again. I looked up and saw an older gentleman coming toward us. My grandpa went up to him and they spoke for a few minutes, I guessed that my grandpa was acquainted with the man. I paid no mind to this, my grandpa knew more people than I could count, what I wanted was to outfish my grandpa for once. So I focused my attention back on the task on hand.

Some time passed when I heard a voice, “That’s a good spot. I’ve caught many fish there.” I turned my head to the left and realized that the older gentleman was talking to me. I took this moment to look at him more closely. He wore light-colored jeans, boots, and a worn-out looking coat with wool on the inside. He had white hair and his features were leathery from a long and hard life and the outdoors. I suddenly got the impression that if I had known this man better, he would be someone I would look up to. I could tell by his presence that he knew lots of things and had been through a lot of things as well. I smiled and responded, “Good to know.”

I did not catch any fish in that spot that day nor did I outfish my grandpa as I had hoped. The older gentleman kept coming across my mind for the rest of that day. I wondered what his story was and, without understanding why, I felt honored that he had spoken to me.

We went back to that pond several times the rest of that summer but the older gentleman was never there. When we finally went there for the last time that summer, the camper was gone. But I still think about that old man at the fishing pond and wonder, who was that otherworldly man?