LAKE OF MEMORIES
WHEN I was a boy, nothing was as exciting as
planning a trip to Greenfield Lake, and then
gathering what little gear was mine to use. It
was very little indeed! First there was the rod,
which was nothing more than a cane pole trimmed in braided
line, as there was no monofilament at that time. Such a benefit
would take a few more years before introduction.
I used only a Carolina Float cork, which was
almost almond shaped rather than a typical
round bobber. The cork sat in the water like
a perpendicular pencil, and it was typically
half submerged if lead weight and attached
bait were balanced correctly. Only a long-shank
#8 Carlisle hook was used because
it would bend straight if I would hang
up with a nonforgiving snag. That, of
course, I did with great regularity.
Next came the bait procurement
tool, which was an old U.S. Army folding
backpack infantry shovel. I loved it, as it was possibly used in
the war, and the blade folded into the handle. Neat! That little
device was my main attack weapon for collecting earthworms
from behind the many azalea bushes surrounding the area I
would fish. It worked well, and didn’t weigh much.
With a cane pole, shovel, a few spare hooks and sinkers, and an
old rusty stringer, I was prepared to go. Add an old and quite-dented
thermos of water and a few stale crackers, and I was off.
40 december 2021
WBM
Off meant that I had permission to leave the house and bike
approximately 5 miles to my grandmother’s house. She had a
neat one-bedroom apartment that overlooked the lake, and
that was where I would go first before getting around to my
favorite fishing spots. After saying my hellos and sharing the
usual granny hugs and kisses, I was off to my favorite site to
catch the big ones.
The lake was surrounded by both cypress trees and cultivated
azaleas. Those trees were old and had been in existence since
the lake served the needs of its original owner, who operated
a rice plantation before the Civil War. The azaleas, which
were mostly of the old Formosa variety, had been planted by the
now defunct Civilian Conservation Corps during the Great
Depression. The shrubs were so old they had grown to over 8 feet.
I would position myself between the lake and evergreens
that fronted the paved and winding road. Out came my Army
folding shovel. I would carefully excavate the rich, moist soil
around the azalea bushes and capture their residents — large,
active nightcrawler earthworms. Never did I fail to obtain
sufficient bait to serve my needs for the entire day. Plunk, they
were dropped in an old tin coffee can.
Once armed with the requisites to fish, I went to certain
select spots that had proven successful in prior trips. Usually,
the best sites were near old cypress stumps, or openings in
the waterlilies. Regardless of the time of day, with that old
cane pole, Carolina Float and Carlisle hook, it was a most
happy time.
fish T A L E S
Greenfield became “my lake”
when I experienced a seminal
moment and taught myself to fish
BY W. JAC K B O S T ROM | I L LUS T RAT IONS BY W I L L JONE S