Fisherladies: the cream of the crop

My daughter, Laura, was home last week after working in New York all summer. She was overdue for some down time and I offered to take her golfing, an activity she has recently taken up. Instead, she said wanted to go fishing, which was fine by me.

The last time I played golf, I was in the sand traps, in the woods, in the tall grass and knocked several in the water. Then on the back nine, I really played badly. Fishing is not nearly as cruel, so off we headed for one my favorite farm ponds. We should have been there at 6:30 a.m., but didn't arrive until mid-morning, by which time all the big fish had found their way to deep water. Se we fished close to shore in about six feet of water with small tackle. Laura landed two bass before I could get rigged up. We caught a bunch of bass—no wall-hangers—but had a great time in the few hours we shared.

Which brings me to my subject: lady fishermen.

It's no wonder my great love is fishing. It's in my genes, and mostly on the lady side of the family.

My great aunt, Sister Wall, was my mentor and started taking me fishing at farm ponds near Raleigh, N.C., when I was a small boy. She was an unbelievable fisherman.

They called her "Sister" because she was the eldest in a large family. She and her husband, Bert, had a tobacco farm in Garner. After attending to the chores around the house, Sister gathered up an arm load of cane poles, fetched a bucket of worms from the spring house and got someone to take her to a pond. She did it not only because she enjoyed it, but also because fresh fish was a staple meal in the Wall and many other households in eastern North Carolina.

In the summertime, when I visited my grandmother in Raleigh, I went with Sister every chance I got. That lady could really fish. She never used fancy equipment, just simple cane poles that she cured herself. The way she skewered worms on a bait hook was a work of art. The worms looked so enticing and wiggly, even I thought about biting them every now and then. Sister knew where to fish—in the shade and near structure when possible—and she was patient to a fault.

Fishing with three or four poles at a time, Sister varied the depths and locations of her baits and caught the biggest bluegills I have ever seen. Often, she would hook a smaller bluegill through the back and use it to catch monster bass.

I had several other aunts who were just as avid in fishing. My Aunt Topsy often took me croaker fishing in Bogue Sound at Morehead City, N.C., and I would stay out as long as she would let me. Topsy also bought me my first fly rod when I was 8 years old.

Along with the rod, she gave me some small white and black poppers and then took me to a pond near Hopewell. I caught six bluegills that day on those artificial popping bugs. We had them for dinner that night. I'll never forget it.

Both my daughters, Angelin and Laura, have developed into very good fishermen, each with patience and a genuine love for the sport. But I never had to push them. It's just something they always enjoyed. We have had some great times together.

Just last week, I mentioned in my column that a 14-year old girl caught a 5-2 smallmouth on the New River. I know lots of guys who have fished all their lives and have never caught a 5-pound smallmouth. For a young girl, that's quite an accomplishment. The young lady's name, by the way, is Sarah Hoppe from Decatur, Ill. She was fishing with guide, Charlie White, from Fayetteville, W.V.

So dads and granddads out there, moms too, don't forget that the best fisherman in your family may have a ponytail. Take your young ladies fishing and find out for yourself.