HOOK, LINE, AND GOLF BALLS

by David Walker

 

David Walker lives in Missouri with his wife Betty, who

is also blind. Both work hard in the National Federation of

the Blind, helping others come to have the independence which

they have achieved for themselves. David, an avid sportsman,

loves to fish; and neither his blindness nor golf balls

whizzing across the path to the lake are going to keep him

from it. Here is what he has to say:

I love to fish and find it neither difficult nor unusual

in any way. I enjoy it regularly and as a matter of routine.

It does not take extraordinary skill for a blind person to do.

My visual acuity is light perception; I see only bright light

and shadows. A long white cane is necessary for my safe and

independent travel.

The road to the lake near my home used to be a nice path

to follow, but the redesign of the golf course changed that a

few years ago. Two new fairways were put in crossing this

road, leaving only a small section of road near the lake. My

route to go fishing now requires me to cross the fairway near

the sixth tee, which I refer to as "the artillery range."

I meet other fishers at the lake, and some seem to be

interested in how I do my fishing. Surprisingly enough, I

don't get many ridiculous questions and comments about how

amazing it is for a blind guy to travel to the lake and fish

alone.

Crossing the fairway and maneuvering around the tee area

to get to the lake is not very difficult. It's crossing the

artillery range, where those little hard projectiles are

landing, that sometimes gets a little difficult.

Crossing that zone takes a simple, common-sense approach.

I stop at the edge of the fairway at the point where I need to

cross; determine whether or not any golfers are playing

through; and listen for the distinctive crack of the club on

the ball, voices of approaching golfers, and the thump of

landing golf balls.

While doing this, I use my Braille compass to line myself

up in a west by southwest direction so I will come out near

the sixth tee and a paved golf-cart path which will lead me

down the hill to the old road to the lake. Since there are

many contours and no real landmarks in this open area, the

long white cane and compass are essential tools. Once I line

up and go, I don't stop until I am across the fairway; this

reduces my chances of being hit. Once, on my way home, I

stopped to check my compass when I thought there were no

players near, and a golf ball driven from the fifth tee struck

my tackle box--I was happy it was not my knee just below the

box.

This risk is greatly reduced when I go fishing at night.

It's not that I like danger, but crossing the fairway is the

most efficient way to the lake because of the layout of the

golf course and the location of the lake.

Besides the compass, I use other information to confirm

my travel such as particular slopes, the height of the grass,

ground texture, location of the sun as I feel it on my face or

back, wind direction, and the honk of the Canada geese that

frequent the lake. Traffic noise on the roads and highways

surrounding the golf course differs depending on the time of

day, and it is a good reference on direction, as is the sun's

direction as it moves during the day.

I find the golfers to be very courteous when I cross

their turf. Many who see me waiting to cross say hello as they

play through; some offer to let me cross before they tee off;

and some wish me luck. I wish them a good game in return. I

have never had a golfer tell me that a blind guy should not be

crossing the fairway.

When I get to the road along the lake, I walk until I get

to a point where I think I would like to start. There is no

beaten path down from the road, so I just work my way down the

steep slope through the thick brush and dead wood. I carry my

rod with the tip behind me so I don't snap it off on a tree as

I move along. Because of the thick brush, steep slope, and

rough ground, my long white cane is necessary in finding the

easiest path ahead of me. When I get to the edge of the lake,

there is a path, and I use the cane to find it and follow the

irregular shoreline.

When I find one of the landmarks that tell me where some

of my favorite spots are, I set down my tackle box, slip off

my pack, and tune in my favorite country music on a pocket

radio, which I place near my tackle box. Not only does the

radio provide entertainment, but it is an audio marker when I

have to leave the site to untangle a snag or try to catch some

fish that just jumped nearby and want to locate my tackle box

quickly.

When I look for a new spot, the white cane is an

important tool. I use it to reach into the water to check the

slope and depth of the water. It also keeps me from

accidentally stepping into the drink.

The cane is also helpful in locating structures that will

steal valuable tackle. I use it to check for branches that

might catch my line or lures when I cast. It is not foolproof,

but it generally gives me an indication of objects in my way.

Once while I was checking for the edge of the lake and

underwater objects, a bass pounced on the shiny tip of my

cane--too bad there wasn't a hook. In addition to using the

cane to check for potential snags, I use the fishing rod,

which is longer, to reach and sweep in the area where I might

be back-casting.

To check for snags out of reach of my cane in new areas,

I usually put a cheap set-up on my rod to test the waters. If

there are any snags out there, I lose only the cheap tackle

and not the more expensive lures. Besides, I might even get a

bass to take the bait while testing.

After I have found that the area is mostly snag-free, I

switch to more expensive lures. Some of these get lost to out-

of-reach snags, but that's what keeps the tackle industry

alive. Sighted fishers lose a lot of tackle, too.

Because modern lines are more supple and finer than in

the past, they are harder to feel and thread through the eyes

of hooks and swivels. I have devised a simple little fine-wire

pinched hook similar to but faster than a needle-threader to

use. This helps me rig up faster. For smaller hook eyes and

finer lines, I also use self-threading needles or fine wire

needle threaders.

For fine tippets and very small flies, I use a fly-

threading tool that I purchased from a mail order supplier for

fly fishers. It holds the eye of the fly while I hold the tool

and guide the fine leader into the slot that guides the leader

through the eye of the fly. These eyes are too small for a

needle or other threader.

Fly fishing is one of my greatest pleasures. I am not a

polished caster, but I get the fly or popper out there and

catch fish. I first learned to fly fish when I was just out of

high school. My dad often took my brother Jim and me fishing

when we were growing up in Michigan, but Jim was not as

enthusiastic as I, and as we grew older and Jim moved away,

Dad and I became good fishing buddies. Then I became

interested in fly fishing, and I was given my first fly reel

for graduation from high school. I bought some inexpensive

tackle to build the system, and my parents bought me a fly rod

for my birthday that summer.

One day my dad came home with a new pair of waders for me

and said we were going up north the next week. I was soon

stepping out into the current of a northern Michigan stream to

try and outsmart some trout. The feeling of this new adventure

was great! I was hooked immediately.

Dad never seemed to worry about my wading alone. I guess

he had confidence in me, and if he did worry, he never let it

show. His teaching me how to feel the bottom of a stream and

to judge and respect the current were valuable lessons. He

would go his way, and I would go mine, then we would meet back

at camp.

Sometimes when I was done fishing before Dad, I would

follow the trail on the high bank along the stream to find him

and see how his luck was. I would listen for the swishing of

his nine-foot bamboo rod. If Dad was finished before I was,

sometimes he would come looking for me. Back then I had some

usable vision and could see most large branches of trees near

me, log jams, pools, and bends in the river within a short

distance. Now I have only light perception, but I still enjoy

using a fly rod despite the occasional tree that grabs my fly.

Dad and Mom raised Jim and me in a positive way and never

really held us back from venturing out. They allowed us to

join Scouts with neighborhood friends.

In addition to what I learned in scouting, Dad also

taught me much about the outdoors and fishing, and I guess

that's why I have such a sense of adventure and an

appreciation and love for angling, wildlife, and the outdoors.

My positive experiences as a boy and my parents' and

friends' confidence in me as I grew up set the pattern for me

to become an independent blind person. This independence was

developed even further through my involvement in the National

Federation of the Blind.

This commitment opened new horizons in my life, and

meeting so many competent members who taught me alternative

techniques expanded and sustained this independence. I found

that learning alternative techniques from others helped me

develop my own techniques, which I have applied in other areas

of life, and in turn I enjoy sharing these with other blind

people.

If it hadn't been for my parents and the National

Federation of the Blind, I doubt if I would have developed my

sense of adventure and independence and would not be dodging

golf balls today.