Photograph #6: My 1st Fishing Story EVER
February 2007…the Lower Niagara River, Western New York…MY VERY FIRST FISHING STORY: “Devils Hole, Niagara Falls, & Steelheads (and brothers-in-laws) ran on ESPN.
Jim and Mike are my In-Laws, Capt. Chris was the guide, and I’m the dude standing there in the middle in my just bought used from an Army Surplus store: Fishing Outfit.
It is the story that started it all. Here it is if you are interested. https://www.espn.com/outdoors/fishing/news/story?id=2755401
Forever in debt to those three dudes right there…forever.
Photograph #7: Amish Pastoral
Somewhere in way, I mean WAY upstate New York.
The BASS tourney was over, I was packing up my truck to head to the next gig and noticed two Amish kids chopping wood out back of the house I was staying at. I waved, they waved, and then they came over, we talked some, they told me they were going to break for lunch and then, “Does your truck have a radio Sir.”
“Yep, a loud one.”
They told me, “We aren’t allowed to have a radio you know, but we get to hear music when cars drive by.”
I sort of knew that they then asked if I had any music by a country singer, I forgot his name, I told them I was more of a Rock ‘n Roll kind of guy and didn’t have any country stuff.
They were very polite and went back to eating in their buggy, and I went back into the house, found my phone, dialed up iTunes, found the country singer and the song they asked for, bought it, downloaded it, went back outside, lowered all the windows in the truck, turned the stereo on and up to about 8 and hit play on my phone, and went back inside.
Through a window I watched as they put down their food and listened to the song, they never moved, they never said a word to each other, they just sat and listened.
I was glad I had hit the repeat button.
After a bit I went out, got in the truck and headed out.
And in my rearview mirror I saw two young boys smiling and waving goodbye.
Photograph #8: The Church Window
The Reflection
I was just one snapshot. One picture of a old brick catholic church, I was just burning up some time before a weigh-in. I didn’t see any reflection in the window with my naked eye, or through the lens, and yet, there is one.
I think I just caught the light right and it is a reflection of some trees growing near the church.
Or it is…
Photograph #9: The Bridge of Gold
The Bridge of Gold.
Most people call this bridge The Peace Bridge, it links Buffalo, NY (the United States) and Canada. Growing up in Buffalo I’ve driven across this bridge dozens and dozens of times.
It is also the bridge that my maternal grandparents crossed to become citizens of the United States. My grandmother would always call it the “Bridge of Gold,” at least that’s what she told me it was called when I was just a little kid.
“The Bridge of Gold” was an inside the family joke…that is until one day while doing a story on fishing the Niagara River I saw the bridge not from the vantage point of driving over it, but from the point of view below it, from the river looking up….
…and this is that view and the photo I took.
The Bridge of Gold…seems Gramma was right.
Photograph #10: Max
I’m going to peel back the curtain here a bit…it took me the best part of TWO days to write this part…the man you see here is Max…Max Leatherwood…he was one of my best friends on the tour for years until he passed in 2017. We traveled together all over the country, we met at a WBT tourney in 2009, here’s what I wrote for BASSMASTER on the day that I heard that Max had passed.
“I first met Max back in the WBT (Women’s Bassmaster Tour) days, it was in the breakfast room of a hotel whose past was much brighter than its future. I didn’t know Max then, he didn’t know me, but we sat eating breakfast at tables close to each other.
I had just taken a bite, as did Max.
Max: “Huh, you think these are eggs?”
Me: “Don’t really know.”
Max: “Huh, think they may be vegetables.”
And I just started laughing because what we were eating clearly were a try at being eggs.
Max: “Huh, think this is toast…”
Max called everyone, “Babe,” even heard him call a dog or two, “Babe.” EVERYONE…total equal opportunity “Babe” for all. No one complained.
Max “bumped” fish backstage of the events, not physically of course did he bump them, he was gentle while measuring the fish, he was a master of the bump, a master of integrity.
On off times the two of us would head out looking at Classic Cars or his never ending search for frozen custard.
I am simply a better man for knowing this man.
Hey Babe…I miss ya man, miss ya a lot.
db
PS: It was eggs.