Opener with a Grandpap

Everyone loves an “Old Man and the Kid” hunting and fishing story. You know, the basic wise old man taking the time to show the younger generation a love for hunting and fishing. There are so many of them that they approach being cliché. Luckily, you haven’t met my Grandpap.

Even as a young teen, on the trout opener eve of 1979, I could barely get any sleep. (That is because my Grandfather showed up promptly at the house at 02:30 in the morning, after his “early bird special”.) My Dad had been called to work that weekend and was malicious, I mean gracious enough to set up the day with my Grandpa to take me out. I loved my Grandpa dearly; he was a tall, sinewy man with leathered hands and face from a lifetime of working outdoors. He was or had been a farmer, a mechanic, he ran his own excavation and masonry business and he worked in the mines and the mills around Pittsburgh. With only an eighth grade education, he had built a very successful business. He held family close and he made every one of his dozens of grandchildren each feel like his favorite. But now over eighty and still working, hands on, six days a week, he had been injured and started to show signs of decline.

On that morning he boomed in to the house and yelled for me saying that he was sorry he was late. He explained that during his oatmeal and Postum breakfast he had run into, “That SOB, Jim Loadman” and they had gotten in a fist fight over the differences between the Catholic and Protestant churches…again. It was always interesting when Grandpa bumped into his best friends.

I got dressed real quick and ran out to the truck, loaded up and was quickly ready to go. I was excited to get to the creek and by stretching my limited math capacity I had calculated that the five mile drive to Coke Oven Creek would take Pap about 2 hours. We needed to get going. Eventually, Pap sauntered out the door with a steaming fresh cup of something that smelled awful. This was before there was official travel mugs so Grandpa used his unofficial travel mug of those days (the kid) saying, “Here, Boy, hold this and don’t spill it, it is hot.” (Not long after some spilled on the dash and left a small hole, but the melted plastic smell nicely covered the odor of the red, hot Postum.) After Grandpa handed me the cup, he checked the oil, all four tires, and climbed under the truck to bang on something. Then, he finally got in the cab, saying, “Always check your equipment at the start of the day.” We were ready to go.

As we pulled out of the drive I asked Pap why he was dressed in blaze orange and red buffalo plaid. He explained that when you went hunting, safety was important as he proudly handed me an orange yarn beer can hat to wear. After awhile I asked if he remembered that we were supposed to be fishing on the trout opener. After a long pause (or less than 1/100^th of a mile) he said, “Of course I do.” Shortly after that he sighed then made a U-turn into oncoming traffic and we started heading back DOWN the mountain.

When we finally made our way to the creek (but not Coke Oven Creek) I was satisfied to run down to a spot and get to fishing. Grandpa said he would be right down. After a little while, I returned to the truck to get some more snelled hooks and wake Pap up. After I fished awhile longer, I thought I heard Grandpap’s truck hood go up. Then, I heard his distinctively loud, rebored 440 cubic inch engine fire up. I ran up the hill as fast as I could but I had wandered a far way down the creek. It took me about 10 minutes to get to the road. I started trying to wave him down but he was busy trying to look over the dash and between the death grip his hands were laying on the steering wheel. I called to him and finally, after he had made about twenty-five feet in almost five minutes, I was able to get up on the truck and smack the hood. Grandpap looked surprised to see me and exclaimed, “Boy, what the heck are you doing playing all the way over here? You’re lucky, I didn’t run you over! Get in”.

I jumped back in the truck and asked, “Where are we going?” Pap gave me orders to hold his Postum again…I winced when I grabbed it, it was still hot. Grandpap smiled, “I was fixin’ to get some ice cream. What are you doing today? Do you want to come along?” Fishing was fun but I never turned down ice cream so I heartily agreed to our “new” plan. For a minute Pap just stared at me then he asked, “What are you doing wearing that ridiculous hat?”

As we started down the road, Pap told me in great detail funny stories of hunting and fishing and milking and home-made cream from when he was a kid all the way to the State Game Lands parking lot.

He pulled in saying, “Well boy, maybe we’ll find a few birds today.” It took awhile but I was able to convince him that it was fishing season to which he then asked, “Well, before we get to Coal Creek, do you want to stop and get some ice cream?” I smiled, “Sure, Pap sounds great”. After checking the oil, kicking the tires and knocking something under the truck we got back on the road. On the way, we stopped at a spring and I tasted the best water I ever had. Grandpap told me stories of how spring water was cleaned by the earth. Then he told me more stories of hunting and fishing in his youth, all the way until we pulled into the quarry to see some of his friends. Pap smiled as he busted into the break room and the guys cheered his name. Pap put his arm around my shoulders and said “All right yens, I want you to meet my Grandson, we’ve been out digging leeks.” Then he pointed to the first gentleman and said, “Boy, this is Mr. Loadman and this is…” Well, I didn’t get much fishing in but I it didn’t matter, this kid still savors the last times he had with his wise old man.

Please remember the Alzheimer’s Association. www.alz.org

See you along the stream.