When I was a kid, all I needed was a cane pole, a bobber, and a coffee can of worms, and I had the perfect day. Dad kept a half sheet of plywood over a wet spot in the pasture near the well. I’d flip the plywood over and go in barefooted. It didn’t take long, and I had enough worms to keep me busy the whole morning.

The fishing poles laid up in a frame we had attached to the rafters in the smokehouse. I’d have to get a 5-gallon bucket to stand on so I could reach them. We had only two kinds of fishing poles. Closed-face reels and cut bamboo. Most of the reels were Zebco 33s. The canes were the kind that came from the bait shop down at High Falls.

I heard the back door open. Mama pushed the screened door wide and hollered for me. I stepped out and stood in the doorway.

“If you catch us a mess, I’ll cook ‘em for supper.”

That was motivation enough. I headed out across the pasture behind the barn and over the hill to the pond, a la’ Andy and Opie.

Fishing was simple back then. I knew where to find a good sitting rock in the shade. Hook a worm, drop a bobber in the water, and wait for it to jiggle. By lunch I’d have a mess on my stringer.

Farm pond fishing is about all I’ve ever really known. And I confess, pond fishing is a more laid-back kind of fishing. I’m not what you would call a serious fisherman, anyway. The lures in my tacklebox are the same ones I’ve always used. I haven’t bought any new lead weights since the Carter administration. Although I like my spinning rod these days, I don’t hesitate to pull out a Zebco 33 for old-times-sake.

Several weeks ago, I started preparing for this fishing trip to Lake Kissimmee. I hate to admit it, but I actually had to knock the dust off my fishing rods. I riffled through the old tacklebox to make sure I had the basics. I was just gonna grab what I had and go.

I had lots of questions. Big lake fishing is not in my wheelhouse. Big lake fishing in Florida is like foreign territory. Marion became my tutor.

It did not take long for me to discover that I am not a professional fisherman. Marion, however, is. Back in the 90s, she and Mike, her husband, were a regular tournament team with the Guys & Dolls circuit in Alabama. They showed up in magazine articles. They had their pictures taken with trophies. They were state champs one year. They fished lakes all over Alabama, placing in the top five over and over again.

So, I listened.

“Did you put on new line?” she asked.

I wasn’t aware that line got old. If the spool had line on it, I fished with it. That, apparently, is not a good idea.

“I lost a big one,” she said, “and I mean a big one, last year because my line broke. I hadn’t changed the line on my rod before the trip. I knew better, and I paid for it.”

So, I bought new 8lb line for crappie and new 12lb line for bass.

Swapping out my fishing line raises a very puzzling question for me. Why does a fishing spool require upwards of 150 yards of line when you only use the first 100 feet? It seems like maybe, I don’t know, 105 feet would be enough, but then I have a simple mind. In my case, I use the extra line for tying on another hook when my lure hangs up in the bushes along the bank and I snap the line trying to tug it free.

My next lesson came in the form of knot tying. A true fisherman knows how to tie the perfect knots. Eyelet knots. Lure knots. Worm knots. Mid-line splice knots. Knots for swivels and knots for leaders. Different knots for different purposes.

When questioned about which knot I use, I answered, “The one my daddy taught me to tie.” I didn’t know that fishing knots had names. I go through the eyelet on the hook twice to make a loop, then twist the short end over the line several times, back through the loop and cinch it down. I use an old pair of nail clippers that I hang around my neck on a string to cut off the tail end of my knots.

This knot has served me well for many years of fishing. I use it on anything and everything that goes on the end of a fishing line.

Today I learned to tie a Palomar knot. This knot is simple and slick. I watched closely. I was confident I had it. I lost my chartreuse, speckled lizard on the first cast. I had never seen a flying speckled lizard before. It sailed through the air and landed in the lily pads as the wind carried my line back to me. I guess I looped when I should have twisted. Maybe I didn’t set it right.

Again, I am not a professional.

“Do you use a Texas rig or a Carolina rig?”

“I didn’t know they had oil rigs in Carolina.”

Apparently, I use a Texas rig, even though I’ve never fished in the state of Texas.

The most important part of big lake fishing, however, is the boat. I’ve been watching boats leave the docks early each morning. Most of these boats cost more than a small Caribbean Island and they are equipped with all the latest electronic equipment for fishing.

From what I can tell, there are no fish anywhere near this end of the lake. I know this because every boat, once it clears the “no wake” zone, guns the throttle and is gone out of sight in five seconds. They are headed out at 75mph for some hot spot somewhere else on the lake.

Our boat is a rental pontoon boat. Top speed is somewhere between a donkey cart and a one-legged guy on a bicycle. We mostly fished this end of the lake.

Somehow, I ended up as ship’s captain. Call me Bligh, me matey.

I’m not sure if you “drive” a boat, or steer one, or pilot it. I have operated a boat mostly by paddle all these years. I am “it” mainly because no one else wants to try and pull up to the dock when we return.

“You drive,” they said.

A boat on open water is easy. The wind in your hair. The feel of spray on your skin. The chop of water beneath you as you clip along.

Docking, however, is another story. There is a video of my first attempt. Please, Lord, I hope it never goes public. But let me explain. A pontoon boat is like an open sail when the wind gets up. I’m talking gale force winds. It really wasn’t a fair measure of my piloting skills.

I have no idea why my crew was kissing the ground when they got off the boat.