Bobber<\/p>\n
On the Columbia River near Vantage.
\nWashington, we fished for whitefish
\nin the winter months: my dad, Swede-
\nMr. Lindgren – and me. They used belly-reels,
\npencil-length sinkers, red, yellow, or brown
\nflies baited with maggots.
\nThey wanted distance and went clear out there
\nto the edge of the riffle.
\nI fished near shore with a quill bobber and a cane pole.<\/p>\n
My dad kept his maggots alive and warm
\nunder his lower lip. Mr Lindgren didn’t drink.
\nI liked him better than my dad for a time.
\nHe let me steer his car, teased me about my name “Junior,” and said
\none day I’d grow into a fine man, remember
\nall this, and fish with my own son.
\nBut my dad was right. I mean
\nhe kept silent and looked into the river,
\nworked his tongue, like a thought, behind the bait.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Bobber On the Columbia River near Vantage. Washington, we fished for whitefish in the winter months: my dad, Swede- Mr. Lindgren – and me. They used belly-reels, pencil-length sinkers, red, yellow, or brown flies baited with maggots. They wanted distance … Continue reading