Worm excavation precedes spring fishing expedition
It was early May of 1970 and I was awaiting my father’s arrival home so we could go down to the lake and go fishing.
He had promised at breakfast that we would go fishing when he got home from work. As soon as he walked out the door I began preparing for the expedition.
I went out to the garage and looked over the fishing poles leaning against the wall in the corner.
Somehow my black pole with the Zebco reel had become tangled with the rest of the poles. It took me a while to free it from the others but it was worth my effort.
I rummaged through an old dresser drawer that was brimming with fishing junk and found my worm container and some bobbers.
It was mid-morning and I was ready to go, however it would be hours before my father’s return.
All that waiting was too much for my six-year-old self to handle, so I decided to find something to occupy my time before I burst in anticipation.
I noticed an old rusty garden trowel setting in the well of the cellar window.
Knowing that we would need some fishing worms, I grabbed the tool and scrambled over to the garden on the side of the house.
The dark wintered dirt was easy to turn, but after an hour’s worth of digging I had only found one baby worm and some grubs.
The sky grew very dark. The smell of rain accompanied a light breeze.
I stood up and brushed the clinging mud from my knees. I decided that the worms must have heard me coming and went into hiding.
I slowly backed out of the garden and surveyed the entire area. I tried to determine just the right spot to continue my excavation.
I rationalized that since my initial digging had begun in the middle of the garden that the worms were heading towards the lawn for safety.
“Ha! I got ya now,” I yelled as I tiptoed towards the edge of the garden.
I hit the ground and began digging like crazy. In a matter of minutes I had hit pay dirt and unearthed twelve big fat worms.
The rain held off long enough for my father and me to dangle those wigglers in the cold spring waters of Limekiln Lake.
Mitch Lee, Adirondack native & storyteller, lives at Big Moose Lake.ltmitch3rdny@aol.com
