Blue Ridge Country January/February 2021 - 7

FROM THE EDITOR

HOME-MADE MOUNTAIN SCIENCE

Worm Pulling? Yes.
Fishing? Not so Much.
Bobber fishing-from worm fetching to picking just the right cove on the
lake and the perfect conditions-needs all the help from science it can get.
By KURT RHEINHEIMER

his was in Radford, Virginia, a long long time
ago, early in the morning when it was still dark
outside.
My grandfather and I were the only ones up,
and I was up only because he had explained to
me the night before that I would be. I was 9, and
very anxious to please my grandfather. He did
things with me that my father did not, like throw a baseball. And let me hit a baseball. I loved doing these things
and wanted my grandfather to do them more with me,
and so I wanted to do what he wanted, too.
I did know we were going fishing, but there were to be
many steps that I would be nervous and uncertain about
before we got there. The first was offering me a cup of coffee. Was this a joke with a little boy even younger than
his years, or another part of the things he was teaching
me on this summer's visit to the mountains? I took the
tiniest bitter taste of the coffee and handed it back toward
him, hoping he would take it, which he did.
And while Claytor Lake was a car drive away, when
we went outside, we did not get into the car-the 1950
Ford Custom that he had hand-painted, with brush
strokes fully visible. Instead, armed with flashlights and
several jars, we walked across the street and then down
it to the vacant lot that sat below street level and had an
odd, dark-soiled pocky look to it. Of all the places I played
when I went outside at my grandfather's house, this was
not one of them, because there was nothing to do there.
My grandfather shined his flashlight onto the ground.
" See that? " he said.
I saw black dirt, and hesitated to identify it.
" See those little tiny clumps of soil? "
I did.
" And see that little hole? "
I did.

He opened one of the jars and then reached into his
pocket, from which he took what I Googled just now to
learn is called a bulb syringe. It was light blue, and he
handed it to me.
" Stick it in here, " he said, offering the opened jar toward me, " and squeeze it. "
I did this, and the syringe filled with some of the yellowish liquid in the jar. The squirting of what he told me
was mustard water down into the hole-and then more
holes-soon resulted in a startling bit of science: that
worms, and even big fat nightcrawlers, do not like mustard water, and come up out of their holes as quickly as
they can to get away from it.
We soon had two dozen big worms in one of the other
jars-this one also containing black dirt-and we were
ready to go back to the car and head to the lake. I remained excitedly jittery over the next steps once we arrived, involving loading the tackle into the boat, untying
the boat, starting the motor and helping guide the boat
out onto the lake toward the perfect spot to fish.
Which brings us to one of my favorite jokes: the comedian Stephen Wright's view that " there's a fine line
between fishing and just standing on the shore like an
idiot. "
No, we were not on the shore, and yes, we caught fish
most of the times we were out on Claytor Lake, but while
I'd head out anytime with a grandson to run the magic of
making worms come right up out of the ground, I'd not
have the confidence my grandfather did to sit in the cold
darkness on a boat squinting to see your bobber sit still
and stark upon the surface for a period of time guaranteed
to keenly test the patience of a 9-year-old.
Not to mention ol' Papa's.
Just, you know, my scientific view, based on those
years of childhood research and data gathering.

JANUARY/FEBRUARY 2021

Blue Ridge Country January/February 2021

Table of Contents for the Digital Edition of Blue Ridge Country January/February 2021