Hook, Line and Golf Balls

Hook, Line and Golf Balls

Hook, Line, And Golf Balls

by David Walker

Reprinted from the July, 1995, issue of the Braille

Monitor, the monthly publication of the National Federation of

the Blind, 1800 Johnson Street, Baltimore, Maryland 21230.

From the Braille Monitor Editor: David Walker is the

stuff of which the Federation is made. He and his wife Betty

were married immediately following the noon recess of the

Wednesday general session at the 1982 convention of the

National Federation of the Blind with a large representation

of the Federation family present to witness the event and

cheer the couple. David and Betty are active members of the

NFB of Missouri who live their Federationism every day. The

following article is an excellent example of their work--

quiet, solid, and absolutely sound. Here is what David has to

say:

This article may appear to have an unusual and

disconnected title, but as you read, you will find the

connection. I was inspired to write it after several

conversations with blind and sighted people about the

abilities and confidence of blind people to venture out and do

things most others assume to be impossible for them. But

people are usually wrong about whether or how much sighted

help is necessary for blind people to get out and do what they

want to. Using alternative techniques, blind people can enjoy

many forms of recreation independently as much as their

sighted friends. The activity I am describing here, fishing,

is neither difficult nor extraordinary 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

piscatorial 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.

Knowing what fish I have on the line is fairly easy. I

pretty much control what I catch by the bait, hook size, and

technique. There is a big difference in how a bass hits the

bait and how a bluegill takes bait. The fight is also very

different, and if I happen to get a little bass, I can

determine its identity by the mouth when I bring it to hand.

Many of the small sunfishes are difficult for me to tell apart

because I can't see color, but I have fun catching and

releasing them.

I keep my tackle sorted pretty much the way most sighted

fishers do. Tackle box compartments keep the various items

separated, and I have assigned certain items to particular

compartments. I mark the colors of lures in Braille on stiff

plastic tags which I make and hang on the hooks. I remove them

when I am ready to put the hooks to use. I recognize most of

my lures, and others I don't try to remember or mark because

they get lost to snags and are generally too numerous and

small to bother with tags. These are usually multi-colored

jigs.

Soft plastic baits such as worms, grubs, and salamanders

are kept in zipped sandwich bags with a Braille tag inside.

The basic gear such as rods and reels don't need tagging. I

mark the type of fly lines on their respective spools in my

own Braille code. These spools snap on and off the reel

shafts. I mark other lines in Braille on the original spools

that come from the manufacturer before I fill them. Other

small things such as hooks, sinkers, floats, etc., are easily

identified. Because of the tiny size and multiple coloring of

flies, I don't try to mark them. I just try to remember the

colors or test the waters with random sampling. The same goes

for poppers, but I remember most of them by shape and size.

About three years ago two young members of our chapter

who are partially sighted and who at that time tended to use

their eyes when alternative techniques would have been more

efficient went fishing with me a few times. They hadn't done

much in the way of outdoor activities, and I thought they

might like to try fishing. Of course, I did it right the first

time out: I took them at night when they had to use their

fingers to put the squirming live bait on the sharp hooks

because it was too dark to use their eyes. Being members of

the Federation and having associated with me for some time,

they were accustomed to blind people who did things

independently with confidence. They got right into it with the

worms as I described the method--they knew I wouldn't bait

their hooks for them. The trek to and from the lake did not

bother them. They had every confidence that I would not get

them lost, and they didn't have to dodge golf balls. We went

several times after that and had a great time.

Last summer, while I was fly fishing for bluegill at the

lake, the county conservation officer came along, and we got

into a nice conversation. He asked if I had a license, and I

said I did. He then asked if I knew that blind persons could

fish without a license. I told him I did, but that I felt that

we should pull our weight like everyone else. I said that

blindness has nothing to do with buying or not buying a

license. I said I take as many fish and take advantage of the

services and programs of the conservation department as

sighted fishers and that the $8 license fee is a real bargain.

He said he understood and appreciated my view. He went on

chatting about how I fish using alternative techniques and had

a nice visit. I know several blind guys in this area who make

good money as vendors but who choose to go the free route on

the basis of their blindness. But then, they are not members

of the National Federation of the Blind.

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 I would not be dodging golf balls today.