By Natalie Strong
If Lexington, Kentucky were a color, I would guess it to be blue. From the University of Kentucky Wildcats fans chanting, “GO BIG BLUE,” to bluegrass music being plucked on the strings of musicians’ instruments, to the blue-gills that swim through the clear, rocky streams—Kentucky and many of its cities (excluding Louisville, of course) bleed blue.
As for Thomas John Strong--T.J. for short-- he does, too.
Born and raised in Lexington, T.J. has never said an ill word about the state and his Wildcats, and would not dare, especially now that he has two sons of his own to raise in the bluegrass state. But when asked what he is most looking forward to watching his children grow up, his answer doesn’t include the cats. Without skipping a beat, he beams and says, “I can’t wait to take them fishing.”
T.J. has always been the laid back, even-keel, “let’s go fishin’ ” kind of guy—even before he found his passion for the sport. Every Saturday he would wake up with the sunrise and stumble downstairs, curl up on the couch, and flip the TV to the fishing shows. He’d watch as the seasoned fishermen reeled in the feisty smallmouths, and take mental notes: Yamamota senko lures catch the pigs, baitfish for the keepers, etc. Around the age of seven, our dad presented him with his first rod. A cheap Shakespeare combo, but a rod nonetheless. He would pedal his rusty blue Schwinn (he wouldn’t be caught dead on a red one) around his cul-de-sac and stop at the little ponds and fish from the bank. Earthworms were about all the bait he could find, but they did just fine for the tiny bites he reeled in. This is where the lure was sunk, and T.J. was hooked by a connection with his first true love: the great outdoors. “Sounds cheesy, but it’s true,” he says, “Fishing is the best way I know how to get back to that, and clear my mind.”
At 10, T.J. was in his usual spot after supper, posted on the dock of the little pond, Shakespeare in hand, and not a care in the world. The sun had begun to set, and dad was out cruising in his blue Chevy Lumina, looking for T.J. before it got too dark. As he pulled up, he remembers watching T.J. cast a couple of times before plunking it down in the middle of the pond when suddenly his body lurched forward, and he began to pull back on the dingy rod.
“I had no idea there were fish that big in those ponds, let alone a little guy like him could reel one in,” our dad, Tom remembers. “I jumped out of the car and we pulled it up together. That thing had to be about six pounds.”
From then on, T.J. and dad would take weekend fishing trips up to Jackson, Kentucky where Tom’s parents lived, and wade in the creeks and work on T.J.’s cast. He remembers sneaking into his Papaw’s garage and rummaging through his old lures and tackle boxes, the same ones he inherited when our grandfather passed away years later. “Things were good,” T.J. would say, “just me and father Tom fishin’.”
One rainy Saturday, T.J. was watching his usual fishing program, when our father appeared in his bedroom doorway, tears welling up in his eyes and spilling onto his cheeks. “T, I’ve gotta talk to you, c’mere a minute,” Tom said, his tone shaky and unsure. He had never seen his dad cry before, and seeing him this vulnerable struck a nerve with him that he would never forget. Tom explained to him that he and T.J.’s mother were having trouble getting along, and it may be best for them to live separately for a while. T.J. didn’t know then, but it would be more than a while. The separate homes would be permanent. He would also later find out that to this day, leaving T.J. at his mother’s house is still the most difficult thing Tom has ever done. He still brings it up in rare times of emotional displays, tears once again welling in his eyes, describing how violently it ripped at his heart to pull out of that driveway with T.J. watching from inside, hand to the window, a single tear on his cheek.
Although the homes were separate and the custody sticky, dad still came to pick T.J. up every weekend, and almost nothing changed as far as their activities went. Even after dad met Rebecca, who would later become T.J.’s step-mother and my mom, the pair would still go fishing, along with road trips to Louisville to see her parents and cabin stays in Gatlinburg every year.
When T.J. reached high school, our dad decided it was time for him to graduate from his faithful Shakespeare to a nice Shimano set-up. T and his buddy, Matthew Schaefer (or as he liked to be called, “The Red Stallion” for his fiery, red hair), would spend almost every afternoon knee-deep in a creek, shooting the breeze and clearing their cluttered adolescent minds as the water flowed past their bobbers. This daily tradition became weekly as they transitioned into college at UK, but was not lost—they made certain of that. Even when T.J. met his future wife, they kept to their fishermen vows and made time to spend doing what they loved.
At 25, T.J. and Schaefer decided to put their talents to use and enter a tournament—mostly for fun, but with hopes there may be some cash or prizes involved.
“It was a Riverbassin event,” T.J. recalls “And before either of us even owned a kayak, but the rules allowed us to wade and fish our favorite creek.” They finished second place as a team and won kayak paddles and life-jackets, thus encouraging their first kayak purchases. With the first tournament behind them and the aftertaste of almost winning, he was hooked again, and this time by his competitive nature. The Lake Cumberland Kayak Fishing Tournament was his second competitive event, and his first in the seat of a kayak. The prize was a brand new Jackson Coosa Kayak—a major upgrade from the one he had just purchased.
As laid back as he was most of the time, preparing for tournaments was something that got him excited. He would spend the entire day before preparing his lures, stocking his tackle box, and making sure his truck was loaded with everything he needed to do well, and subtract any stress from the sport he loves. He won the tournament handily and went on to compete in tournaments in Tennessee, Mississippi, and Georgia, placing second in all three. But, he says his most satisfying win came after his second-place streak. It was another Riverbassin event, but this time he was seated in his prized Jackson Coosa, and finished first place, granting him the title of “Angler of the Year 2014,” along with prize money, plenty of free merchandise, a magazine cover, and his favorite: bragging rights over all of his fishing buddies.
His love for fishing grew, along with his new family. After his oldest son was born, he went out two days later and fished a tournament, bringing home a second-place trophy and much less weight on his shoulders than when he left. He jokes that he wishes he could be a stay-at-home dad, partially to spend time with his boys, and maybe squeeze some fishing in, too.
“A bad day of fishing is always better than a good day at work,” he says, laughing. “Even when the fish aren’t biting, there are a lot of things I can enjoy while spending a day in my kayak.”
T.J. has always been a stress-free kind of guy, even in the most stressful of situations.
This past year, after the birth of his second son, T.J. was diagnosed with a rare form of testicular cancer, slowing down his ability not only to go out in his ‘yak, but also to do almost anything physical.
“It sucks, but I’m gonna be fine,” I remember him saying to me when I got the call. I couldn’t believe how nonchalant he was being, but I knew he was right. T.J. is one of the luckiest guys I have ever met. If his fishing record doesn’t tell you that, I could list several other random contests and raffles he’s won, or I could tell you he’s now cancer-free and scooping up his boys with ease just as he did before.
When asked how he’s fitting fishing into his busy, two-kids-plus-a-wife-and-career life, he says, “Fishing has been a passion of mine for several years, but it wasn’t until more recently that I learned to appreciate and cherish the time I’m able to spend on the water. Having a family has no doubt limited the hours I can spend fishing, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world, and I can’t wait to pass on my love of fishing to the boys.”