I was forced into economic exile back in the mid 1980s. The industrial base, steel and chemicals, was routed here in the Ohio River valley and we struggled with double digit unemployment from 1980 through the early 1990s. So I packed up and moved to sunny Florida. Sarasota, specifically.
I was amazed by all the Rust Belt expatriates there. One could instantly tell if someone was a native Floridian, or a troubled Northerner looking for work. the Northern folks all had great stereo systems, extensive album collections, big televisions and even VHS recorders and movie collections. The Southerns had bass boats, jet skis, fishing equipment that would humble any angler from Ohio and motorcycles.
The Florida boys taught me to trot line fish for catfish. Now, I was no stranger to the rod and reel, but this trot line method was intriguing. It all begins with a trip to Piggly Wiggly for chicken livers. They are sold in little pint containers like cottage cheese. You take your container of livers outside, remove the lid and let them fester in the hot Florida sun all day. In the evening, you swat away the flies that have congregated on the livers in Biblical proportions.
Then, you rendezvous at a mosquito infested lake and prepare the trot line. This consists of a few one gallon plastic milk jugs used as floats, a spool of butcher's twine and several fish hooks. The twine is strung along between the milk jugs like the rope dividing the deep end from the shallow end in a swimming pool. You must cut several lengths of the remaining twine (about two feet long each) and tie those to the main line so they are dangling beneath the surface of the water. A fish hook is tied to each length of twine and the hook is baited with a piece of the rancid chicken liver. The whole apparatus is then strung across the lake by way of canoe and Off mosquito spray.
After the trot line is in place, it is customary to retire to a camp fire to tell each other lies and share cold bottles of beer. It is mandatory that one sits upon a five gallon plastic bucket. Once your butt has been impressed with a sore red ring from the rim of the bucket, it's time to get into the canoe and check the lines. This step is necessary to ensure the catfish have had time to notice the 'treat' of putrid livers set out for their benefit. Should you be lucky enough to catch one of these catfish, you must place it in the bottom of the canoe and re-bait the hook.
After three or four hours of swatting mosquitoes, drinking beer, getting a ring imprinted around your hind quarters and swapping tall tales, it's time to pack up your catch of catfish and head home.
And they call fishing a sport. Any sport during which you can drink beer and smoke cigarettes ain't a sport. Like bowling or golf, this trot line fishing technique is more like a pastime than a sport.
I think I'll put on an album and dream of ice skating.