Grandpa's Tackle Box

Grandpa Herb's arsenal of fishing gear

Without question, anyone who knew my Grandpa Herb would recall his love of the outdoors and especially for fishing.  Grandpa was raised in Chico, California where his grandfather, William B., was a pioneer resident and worked for John Bidwell - Learn more about John Bidwell HERE.  Grandpa Herb was tall, strong and, though exhibiting a stubborn temperament much of the time, was known to have a "heart of gold" to people who really knew and understood him.  He served in the US Army in World War II, stationed in the Philippines.  

Grandpa Herb (middle) ready for another fishing adventure

Grandpa Herb was the senior citizen you might occasionally see at a restaurant who has to stop and try to make every child he saw smile.  His hands wore many scars and were as hard as the wood he spent most of his life working with to build homes and casinos in Reno, Nevada.  One of his thumbs was disfigured from a table saw accident.  I rarely saw him wear anything but tan "Dickie" brand worker pants, shirt and slip-on leather boots.  His shirt always had a plastic pen holder in one pocket and his leather prescription glasses case in the other.  My Grandpa always smelled like black coffee and was never without a package of Rolaids.  He drove a blue 1970-something Chevy Truck with a 454 horsepower engine and white steel canopy.  

General store in Chico - 1930's

When not fishing, his daily routine during his retired years consisted of a morning bowl of Bran Buds, an hour of solitaire games followed by a drive to the "Gold and Silver Restaurant" for an early lunch with friends.  Until his death in 1988, he fished from a 16 foot aluminum "open" boat with an old Johnson outboard that likely dated back to the 1940's.  I recently acquired two fishing tackle boxes that Grandpa Herb hauled in this boat.  The smaller, plastic tackle box contained mostly incidental fishing gear to include swivels, leaders, spreaders, etc.  

Many fishing "treasures" found in Grandpa's tackle box

The larger tackle box is green and made of aluminum.  By today's fishing standards, the box is huge with over 50 compartments with black plastic liners.  The box has 4 fold-out trays and a large bottom space and weighed about 30 pounds before I completed an inventory.  

When I first opened Grandpa's tackle box I saw an old toothpick with dull points.  Holding it brought back memories of him always finishing dinner by grabbing a toothpick from a brass container on Grandma's dining table.  Grandpa would store toothpicks for later use in the visor of his old Chevy truck.  

Grandpa Herb was prepared for many types of fishing

Grandpa's tackle box contained an old "Garcia" fishing reel and two old sets of scissors.  When opening the trays of the box I saw a colorful display of what amounted to over 100 fishing lures, spoons, spinners, Kwik Fish and various rigs for fishing trout and salmon.  Some were new in their boxes yet most all were unusable due to weak and rusted treble hooks.  There were several rubber baits and bobber set-ups likely designed to catch the occasional warm water fish located in Pyramid Lake.   There was an old extra spark plug and screwdriver, likely stored in Grandpa's anticipation of outboard motor troubles and a couple of boxes of matches (though he quit smoking years before he passed away).  Many of the fishing rigs had cut-off-knots which made me imagine him tying and changing after unsuccessful casts to stubborn fish.

Fishing with Grandpa Herb on the Truckee River in the mid 1970's

After my recent boat purchase, I needed a good tackle box and decided to use Grandpas.  Though it's a bit large for my boat and the contemporary fisherman's choice for high-tech equipment, just fishing along side the box makes the day feel more special.  The tackle box was definitely well used as its latches are squeaky and worn.  I spent an evening carefully removing and placing much of Grandpa's tackle into plastic freezer bags.  There are a couple of tackle items that I will use, albeit with apprehension of losing. 

As a child, I remember making many family road trips to Reno to visit Grandpa and Grandma.  Upon arriving and after a big bear hug from Grandpa, I would immediately ask to see "the fish picture".  He would immediately retrieve his wallet from his back pocket and slowly thumb through the thick assortment of receipts, notes and currency.  He would then hand me a small black and white photograph of him holding what he said was the largest Salmon he'd ever caught.  As I remember, he had caught the fish in the 1950's on the Sacramento River near Chico and he said it weighed 75 pounds!

Grandpa Herb loved to take his only grandson fishing.  He would take me to a large pond in east Reno to catch planted trout.  If I was lucky, we would head north of town to Pyramid Lake and the home of large German Brown and Lahontan trout.

John Hemingway's classic novel "The Old Man and the Sea" recounts the story of Santiago, a man who sets out to sea in order to find himself and change the bad luck that has enveloped his life.  His luck does change as he hooks into an 18 foot Marlin which subsequently tows him around the sea for a few days.

The story ends with Santiago, after experiencing more bad luck with the loss of his great fish at the jaws of a school of sharks, entering a very contented deep sleep and dreaming of his youth where he explored African beaches.  I've had similar dreams of exploration, only mine involve me and Grandpa Herb fishing and talking while searching his tackle box for that special lure to catch our next big fish.

Grandpa Herb with a Marlin caught in Baja in the early 1980's

Fall Running in the Country

Help - I need a Fall and Winter Running Goal!

Country living, and running, in the Fall.  I declare this to be the finest time of year...the finest place to run...and have come to understand and appreciate that Fall is really a season of transition for not only trees, flowers, birds and daylight hours - it represents a major change in our options for "play".  

After spending the past two summers balancing running with other priorities, I've hit a wall after the marathons.  True, my body needs some time to recuperate, but I think I'm there - almost a month now with very little running. 

Without question, I've become as restless as the dangling maple leaf, trying to delay its inevitable fall by clinging tightly to a vine who is ready to call it a year.  The vine and its tree are ready for a nap.

Me? No napping....Not this year. I am definitely goal-oriented when it comes to running.  Give me a goal - a trail race, a marathon, something organized and I'm all over it.  Leave me to just schedule weekly runs for the pure joy of running and I begin to flounder, "ho-humming" and initiate a mental adjustment to the likes of a grizzly bear preparing for the slow crawl into his cozy den for the winter.   In my den there are two warm fire places (one is natural gas...), evening Duck, Trail Blazer and Monopoly games with J and the girls.  A terrific place to be.  However, there's still time to trek many miles before the end of the year.

The past two weeks of out-of-town job training left me with very little running (only a 5 miler around Bear Creek) and a whole lot of high calorie cafeteria food which included rather delightful double chocolate chip cookies with caramel glaze (aided in digestion by a chaser glass of chocolate milk).  However, I was fortunate to have a 4 hour class on health and fitness.  The class reinforced what I already knew about running and aerobic exercise - it's really, really good for you.  You know the benefits - most all relate to increased quality of life. I'm more determined now to find a goal for the Fall and Winter season.   Last year, I tried to maintain some weekly runs - but with tomorrow night's "fall back" time adjustment, I'll be leaving and returning home from work in darkness.

When I lived in the city, running at night was something to look forward to.  Street lights, people (Journey!  Could Steve Perry have been a runner?) made evening runs through the city interesting and preoccupied my thoughts, making the runs seemingly go by quickly.  

A Harvest Moon to light Bear Creek's trails.

Nighttime running in the country is a bit scary with the only sources of light, aside from a runner or cyclist's headlamp, is from the occasionally passing car or truck's headlight high beams or those lights emitted from houses separated by many acres of now dormant raspberry, black berry and apple orchards.  Granted, as day begins to break, the fog and cool temperatures bring a renewed sense of play and running in perhaps the world's finest setting - the country.