Without a doubt, the most enjoyable fishing trip I ever had was in my 14-foot tin boat with my stepfather, Medford Hatfield, brother Jay Hatfield and my grandfather Roger Culver. I was raised by my grandparents after my mother Betty remarried Mr. Hatfield when I was 8-years-old. They moved to Pennsylvania when I was 10 and I wanted to stay in Claymont, DE so I remained with Mom-Mom and Pop on Wistar Street.
Pop would go fishing with his friends from American Viscos in Marcus Hook and he used an Ocean City rod and reel with linen line. After each trip he would take all the line off the reel and put it in a pot of fresh water. After the line had soaked in the fresh water Pop would wind it on a wood contraption made just for drying the line. Once the line was dry; he would wind it back on his reel.
So, you may ask, was all this work worth the trouble? I have both of Pop’s rods and reels hanging on the wall in my office and I believe if I took them down, I could use them to go fishing.
Now by this time Mom-Mom had passed and Pop was visiting with Barbara, the kids and me in our trailer at Bayshore Campgrounds in Ocean View, DE. Dad and Jay drove down from Pennsylvania and we got off to an early start. Indian River Bay was slick calm and the tide was filling up. Perfect conditions for flounder fishing. I had bought three dozen minnows from Mrs. Murry the night before so we had plenty of bait.
Pop had his Ocean City rod and reel with the linen line and a spreader bar that carried two hooks on leaders that would have held Jaws. Dad, Jay and I had more modern outfits with light line, teasers and I fished with an unweighted minnow. All of our rigs had proved successful, but it was Pop’s spreader bar that kept putting summer flounder in the cooler. Oh, Dad, Jay and I had the occasional short and every great once in a while a keeper, but Pop seemed to have a keeper every time he reeled up a fish. Pop did not let this success go unnoticed, as he would crow like a rooster every time I netted a fish for him.
Now we have to move to Virginia in the early 1990s. I had taken the job as the first Executive Director of the Virginia Coastal Conservation Association. I started from scratch with no members, no chapters and only a grant to cover my first year’s salary. The good news, I had some very good friends who helped me get chapters from Richmond, to Washington to Virginia Beach and we were planning our first banquet.
On one night, after a bit of a contentious meeting in Newport News, I was driving back to Virginia Beach when all of a sudden, I was joined in my Dodge RAM Charger by Dad, Jay and Pop. Pop was sitting next to me while Dad and Jay were in the back seat. We talked about the fishing trip and how much fun we had and then we didn’t say anything for quite a while. And then they were gone.
After they left, I looked around and realized I was in Chesapeake. I had driven past the exit for Virginia Beach. I’m guessing they rode with me for 30 to 40 minutes. I have no memory of that time other than riding with my family. I must have been aware that I was driving on an interstate and even though it was late at night I know I was not alone.
I got off at the next exit and turned around then drove to Virginia Beach and home.
As for Dad, Jay and Pop. Well, Dad was killed in an Industrial accident in Colorado. Five years later Jay was driving home after meeting with a friend and telling him all about his first three days on his new job when he was killed in a car wreck. Pop, well he died from old age.
No, I don’t believe in ghosts. I know the people in my car on that ride were figments of my brain. However, they were as real as anybody can be and I spoke with them and they spoke with me.
Ghost riders.
