Okie Noodling

This is my little brother, Adam.  He is a noodler.  And not the "Okie Noodler," as seen on public television type.  He has all his fingers, the last time I checked and can clean up nicely, if required.  You could throw him into a high-brow charity event and he would probably only embarrass his wife, an esteemed attorney, once or twice.  And that would be for poking fun of the metrosexuals, and who among us can't refrain from that?  


Adam is one of those all-boy types, who grew up on fishing, noodling, and hunting.  Our dad was an extreme outdoorsman, and we were always in the water.  I say "extreme" because we once camped out for an entire summer.  And not the "turn up the AC in the RV" type, I mean the "tent & build your own fire" type.  Us kids were 10, 5, 3, and 1 at the time.  I'm sure my mom looks back on this time with fond memories.  Who wouldn't want to potty-train kids, clean fish, and then cook your meals on a tiny gas stove?  


The noodling, however, did not start until my brothers were in junior high and by that time I was busy back-combing my bangs and collecting swatch watches, so I did not get to fully experience this phenomenon.  My dad did drag me along, once or twice, to plug the holes if there were no boys handy.  Plugging the holes requires the wearing of old tennis shoes and the ability to hold your breath, at times.  So into the water we went, and Dad would swim down and then come up with a smile.  He would grab my foot and place it wherever he felt like the fish may escape from.  So, you're partially treading water and trying to keep your foot firm, when you feel it: a fish, who knows there used to be a hole right there, trying to hit your foot hard enough to get away from whatever is attempting to grab it.    


So, since the hick-u-mentary aired on national TV a few years back, noodling has since evolved into one of those "I think I want to try that" types of things.  And I fit this category.  After all, I have the perfect noodlin' guide to help me, right?  So, I make the trip to Adam's lake to make it happen.  


Adam, and his two other noodlers-in-training, who are now pros themselves, managed to pull out the fish pictured above.  I had a harder time than I had imagined getting the nerve to swim down, & feel around into an area that I could not see.  Adam even found a fish for me, and swam my hand down to it.  I felt around quickly, secretly hoping that nothing was in there, and sure enough, the fish was gone.  As the sun was setting, it seemed that I would have to face the fact that I did not have what it takes (mentally, anyway) to do this. 


Right before we left, we tried a boat ramp.  Apparently, the concrete, which slopes gradually into the water, makes a perfect home for fish, guarding their eggs.  Oh, and by the way, fish who are guarding their eggs, bite anything that comes near their babies-to-be.  This part, no one told me.  Noodlers don't talk about getting bit or the scrapes on their hands and arms, or the blood trickling down their heads from bumping into rocks.  So, in my noodling fantasies, I envisioned a fish, lying docile, you locate them, gently feeling for their mouth, they in return, realizing you want to catch them, open wide, and you simply pull them out. 


Angry with myself and realizing I had just driven two hours and was officially a big chicken, I began to really get my hands in there, knowing my time was about out, and this was when I felt it:  the mushiest, softest, sack of ...wth is that?  And then, I felt IT: the sharpest, shock of pain, make you scream like-a-girl and fight-off-tears, because something bit me, hard.  And, no, I did not have the guts to stick my hand back into that hole.  And that is how my first noodling trip went.


I am still trying to convince myself that if I wear thicker gloves next time, get immune to the shock of being bitten, and find the balls to fight back, maybe I can pull this noodling fantasy off.  If Kerri Russell in the movie Leaves of Grass can do it, I can too.