Bream Fishing A LifeTime Pursuit

Recently, I was driving over some old familiar territory, Highway 156 between Creston and Goldonna. A couple of miles out of Creston, there is a high hill but before the hill, there is an area where the road dips low for a few hundred yards.

I slowed as I hit the low area, remembering a time when as a boy, this stretch of road, now paved but then gravel, would be covered in spring from high water as nearby Black Lake overflowed.

Dad would gather fishing poles, instruct my brother and me to head for the cow barn, shovel and Prince Albert cans in hand, to dig among the cow patties for big red earthworms. Once the cans were filled, dad loaded us up in the car, fishing poles protruding from rear windows for a trip to that stretch of highway. Dad knew that in spring when the lake overflows and covers the road, the bream would follow the rising water and they’d be there on the road bed by the thousands.

 

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