The Bobber: A Life of Crime Diverted

It was a great fishing hole only a few blocks from our house in a suburb of Cincinnati.   My dad was transferred by Ford from Detroit and we were all still getting used to having so much nature around.  Crayfish and creeks were scarce in Detroit, but “craw-dads” were numerous in the “cricks” just down the street. There was a reservoir and a public park that offered a ledge where we took our gear on Saturdays.  I wasn’t having much luck but the kid next to me was.  Searching for the rationalization for my poor angler skills, I noticed that the other seven year-old had something I didn’t.  His bobber was red and white, while mine was yellow and orange.  That had to be it.  Apparently, the bass responded much better to the floating red plastic on the surface compared to the floating orange plastic on the surface.  Forty-one… Read More…