Ballad Of The Gungy Pickerel Fishers

                                 I.

“It makes me laugh,” says Amos Green, “to hear the young folks tell,

About their pickerel fishin’ now, ‘bout how they do so well;

About the munstrous strings they ketch with all their patunt gear,

An’ how they play ‘em with a reel an’ land ‘em with a spear.

Why, when sech folks go out to fish their outfit makes me think

Uv scientific expeditions a-goin’ crust the drink;

They make more fuss an’ take more stuff than what would fill a yacht,

An’ some take cushions filled with air, by jinks, on which to sot.

                                 II.

 “O, Lordy me! I can’t forgit the way we used to go;

They warn’t no fuss nur fillergree, it warn’t no puppy show.

We hed an’ ol’ scow boat, we did, all weather beat, you bet,

An’ leaky ez a riddle, but we didn’t keer fur thet.

We’d push frum shore at break o’ day out on the swirlin’ crick

Way up along the medders where the lily pads are thick,

An’ take along an’ ol’ cane pole, a sixteen footer, boss,

An’ good string line attached thereto, one thet would hold a hoss.

                                 III.

“A ding-fired strongish pick’rel hook we hitched onto the line,

An’ there we hed an outfit, sir, we counted purty fine.

A perch’s belly fur the bait, a showy, temptin’ lure,

One thet pickerel would bite an’ hold onto fur sure.

Thet’s what we hed for wepins then, an’ mark my words, we’d get

Some monstrous strings uv pick’rel sir ez ever left the wet.

We’d heave them baits amongst the pads an’ coax them fellers out,

A-weighin’ anywhere’s frum six to ten pounds, thereabout.

                                 IV.

“They warn’t no reeln’ uv them in, no playin’ tag, not much;

Thet ol’ cane pole would double up, but hold to beat the Dutch.

They’d be a thrashin’ in the Crick, an’ then they’d start to come

An’ land right in thet ol’ scow boat, right in the middle plum.

I’ve seen ‘em in thet boat so thick you couldn’t step, I van,

But what they’d be up to your knees like sardines in a can.

Thet’s what I call real fishin’, git a load like thet, I jing,

Wuz jest an ev’ry day affair, a sort uv common string.

                                 V.

 “It makes me laugh ‘s I said afore, the way thet folks talk now;

One thing about my fishin’ is, I never brag, I swow!

I tell the thing jest ez it is, without no fillergree;

Plain truth, in good plain English when I’m talkin’ fish, thet’s me.

Thee modern folks will set all day, with sciuntific gear,

An’ test the water with a glass, an’ try the atmosphere;

An’ ef they git a fish they’ll write it fur a magazine,

Likes not an’ brag about it fur a year,” says Amos Green.

June 27, 1911

   

Joe Cone in center