Practically any lake or stream can have sunfish (perch) that are easy to catch – and easier to eat when fileted, rolled in cornmeal or Bisquick mix, and fried. A simple Zebco closed face spinning reel and rod will work, but a six- or seven-foot bamboo pole cut and dried in the sun might be easier to use. Tie some fishing line onto the narrow end of it and tie a small hook on the end of the line for the bait – either a cricket, grasshopper, or a piece of earthworm. A plastic bobber can be snapped on when you see how deep the water is. (Photo by Duke Kinley)
by John Jefferson
George Gershwin wrote the song, “Summertime,” for a folk opera he called “Porgy and Bess.” It’s said to be “written in a minor key and has a slightly melancholy feel.” The opera was about the woes of poor, Black people.
The second line of it started, “Fish are jumpin’ …” The song often resurrects my summertimes. The Big War had ended, and I made lifelong memories fishing for perch and catfish in East Texas and at my grandmother’s place on the Guadalupe River near Seguin.
Those memories spawned melancholy moods of their own through the years since.
Fishing was different then. Texas only had two lakes: Caddo and “Dam B.” Bass fishing was done primarily with minnows. An aluminum double bucket system kept them alive until we got to the creek. The outer container held water. The inner floating minnow bucket was pulled out and anchored in the stream.
Some began fishing fish with artificial lures that Texans called “Dow Jacks,” made by James Heddon in his kitchen in Dowagiac, Michigan. They were big and awkward. I inherited some and wish I hadn’t traded them one night for a tank of gas. But I had my own woes, then.
But back to perch fishing. I was born into a family that fished. Some laugh at the idea that there’s a gene that can be passed down for fishing, hunting, and needing to be in the outdoors. That’s fine; to each his own. But the men in my ancestry didn’t do needle point. I wish I could have known more of them. One wrote that document we celebrate this week.
My yen to fish began during that Big War. Gasolene was rationed. When it ended, we were able to visit my paternal grandmother. The first fish I caught were two little silver perch. Part of the next few summers was spent there on the river, fishing for perch and an occasional catfish. I was able to tell whether the pull on my line was by an edible sunfish, a catfish, a turtle, or a Rio Grande perch (cichlid). My grandmother Jefferson fried up a lot of perch and a few catfish during those summers.
Fishing worms cost a dime, but a boy of nine didn’t have many dimes. I learned to swat grasshoppers off Johson grass with my baseball cap just hard enough to disable them and put them in my minnow bucket. It’s a wonder I didn’t get snake bit wading through chest high weeds to collect bait.
Shinnying down the bank to my favorite fishing spot wore out the seat of my pants. To this day, I enjoy fishing for perch. Every kid should.
I knew two writers who were in a fishing tournament they might have won. But they abandoned it when they noticed some large sunfish.
They bought worms at the marina and enjoyed being kids again.
Hit your favorite lake or stream this summer and be a kid yourself. And take one with you!
JJ
