Mark Hofman
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- Nov 12, 2001
- Messages
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Well, I'm back from our Special Needs Fishing Weekend. Our group of adult Boy Scout volunteers (Canoe Guides) spent Saturday taking nine blind scouts fishing on the Council's summer camp lake. All nine had multiple disabilities, including two in wheelchairs.
My father-in-law (Ron) and I were matched up with a young man I'll call Charlie. I took pictures, and then promptly found out that all nine kids are wards of the state and can't have their names or photographs published (including internet sites) without the permission of the state. Anyway, Charlie is 17 and is both blind and learning disabled.
We started out at 8:30 am. For the next four hours, it was non-stop questions. And I mean NON-stop!
"Hey Mark, where is the key?"..."In my pocket, Charlie."
"Hey Ron, where is the horn?"..."This boat doesn't have one."
"Hey Mark, does this have tape player?"..."No."
"Hey Ron, can I drive?"..."NO!!!
"Hey Mark...."...."Because...."
I didn't start the big motor, but we ran the trolling motor at the surface once in awhile so he could hear the sound of the prop hitting the water. Ron rigged his pole up with a Texas-rigged worm, and because Charlie had never learned to cast Ron tried to teach him. That didn't work, so they would trade off. Ron would cast. Charlie would reel. Man, could he turn the handle on that reel! The T-rigged worm water-skied! In the meantime, I ran the trolling motor and tried to put us on fish.
About forty minutes into the morning, I hooked up on a small bass and double-set the hook. Then I put the rod in Charlie's right hand, and put his left hand on the reel handle. "Turn it SLOW, Charlie....keep turning....just a bit more....there's the fish.....STOP!" I un-hooked the bass and Ron took the rod from Charlie's hands. I had him feel the fish's tail, his scales, and the teeth.
"Hey, Mark, why's it wet?"....
"Hey, Ron, who makes fish?"....
By lunchtime, Charlie had landed several modest size bass, including one that went about a pound and a half. But once he had done it a few times, he pretty much had the routine figured out and the newness wore off.
The kids had stayed up until about 2:30 the night before, so Charlie began to fight off sleep. A couple of times, we caught him napping. The lure was in the water, but he wasn't turning the handle, and his breathing was regular and heavy.
During lunch, the boys swapped stories with each other and talked about us (Scott, remember the young man who ran Gary's trolling motor for him last year? He does a VERY good impersonation of one of our guys. "Hey, don't touch that! ("That" was the switch for the bilge pump on his Ranger, as it turned out).
It was obvious that Charlie wasn't going to make it through another four hours, so we took one of the bus driver's kids, and Charlie spent the rest of the afternoon sleeping on the pontoon boat as it cruised up and down the lake.
Ron, the bus driver's son (Tim, a 5th grader with no disabilities and his own rod), and I ran to the upper end of the lake and proceeded to boat between 40 and 50 bass. At the end of the day, when he saw his dad coming in with a stringer of 5 bass, Tim held his biggest fish next to each one of his father's and said, "Nope, mine's bigger....still bigger...Man, we threw SMALL one's like that BACK....still bigger....Gee, dad, didn't you catch ANY like this one?"
At the end of the day, as they were getting ready to board the bus for the long ride back to St. Louis, Tim came up and tapped my arm. I turned around. He extended his hand to shake mine, and very politely said, "Thanks. I had a great time."
My father-in-law (Ron) and I were matched up with a young man I'll call Charlie. I took pictures, and then promptly found out that all nine kids are wards of the state and can't have their names or photographs published (including internet sites) without the permission of the state. Anyway, Charlie is 17 and is both blind and learning disabled.
We started out at 8:30 am. For the next four hours, it was non-stop questions. And I mean NON-stop!
"Hey Mark, where is the key?"..."In my pocket, Charlie."
"Hey Ron, where is the horn?"..."This boat doesn't have one."
"Hey Mark, does this have tape player?"..."No."
"Hey Ron, can I drive?"..."NO!!!
"Hey Mark...."...."Because...."
I didn't start the big motor, but we ran the trolling motor at the surface once in awhile so he could hear the sound of the prop hitting the water. Ron rigged his pole up with a Texas-rigged worm, and because Charlie had never learned to cast Ron tried to teach him. That didn't work, so they would trade off. Ron would cast. Charlie would reel. Man, could he turn the handle on that reel! The T-rigged worm water-skied! In the meantime, I ran the trolling motor and tried to put us on fish.
About forty minutes into the morning, I hooked up on a small bass and double-set the hook. Then I put the rod in Charlie's right hand, and put his left hand on the reel handle. "Turn it SLOW, Charlie....keep turning....just a bit more....there's the fish.....STOP!" I un-hooked the bass and Ron took the rod from Charlie's hands. I had him feel the fish's tail, his scales, and the teeth.
"Hey, Mark, why's it wet?"....
"Hey, Ron, who makes fish?"....
By lunchtime, Charlie had landed several modest size bass, including one that went about a pound and a half. But once he had done it a few times, he pretty much had the routine figured out and the newness wore off.
The kids had stayed up until about 2:30 the night before, so Charlie began to fight off sleep. A couple of times, we caught him napping. The lure was in the water, but he wasn't turning the handle, and his breathing was regular and heavy.
During lunch, the boys swapped stories with each other and talked about us (Scott, remember the young man who ran Gary's trolling motor for him last year? He does a VERY good impersonation of one of our guys. "Hey, don't touch that! ("That" was the switch for the bilge pump on his Ranger, as it turned out).
It was obvious that Charlie wasn't going to make it through another four hours, so we took one of the bus driver's kids, and Charlie spent the rest of the afternoon sleeping on the pontoon boat as it cruised up and down the lake.
Ron, the bus driver's son (Tim, a 5th grader with no disabilities and his own rod), and I ran to the upper end of the lake and proceeded to boat between 40 and 50 bass. At the end of the day, when he saw his dad coming in with a stringer of 5 bass, Tim held his biggest fish next to each one of his father's and said, "Nope, mine's bigger....still bigger...Man, we threw SMALL one's like that BACK....still bigger....Gee, dad, didn't you catch ANY like this one?"
At the end of the day, as they were getting ready to board the bus for the long ride back to St. Louis, Tim came up and tapped my arm. I turned around. He extended his hand to shake mine, and very politely said, "Thanks. I had a great time."
