| WOODY: If the Scottish fish would not bite, neither will I |
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By: LARRY WOODY, Post Columnist
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Posted: Sunday, October 23, 2011 7:16 am
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Halloween is at hand and lots of folks will be stumbling around in old ragged clothes, moaning and groaning, going door-to-door asking for handouts.
But enough about the national economy.
Maybe Halloween will help us take our minds off of it.
As I kid, I always looked forward to the opportunity for a little good-natured pranksterism and panhandling for treats. Granted, there were some occupational hazards: Old Man Kruger who lived in the spooky ramshackle house on the hill was known to hand out wormy apples, and it was whispered that Miz Carbunkel up the street kept several stray children chained in her basement. But hey, for free candy …
Later on as a hot-blooded teenager, I often lay awake at night hoping Elvira, Mistress of the Dark, would fly through my window. Now there was a vampire you could sink your teeth into.
Figuratively speaking, of course.
Everybody enjoys a good fright now and then – witness the popularity of slash-and-gore horror movies, books about flesh-eating zombies and creepy close-up shots of Vice President Joe Biden’s hair plugs.
I never really bought into the idea of ghosts and goblins stalking the land. But everyone has their own opinion. My grandma, for example, claimed ghosts were real and the moon landing was fake.
Once on a fishing trip to the Louisiana Bayou our Cajun guide T-Roy refused to go out one morning because one of his girlfriends had cast a spell on him. T-Roy sat on the porch all day drinking moonshine to ward off the hex. He said it beat sending money to a TV preacher.
The late outdoors writer Ed Zern once was asked if he believed in ghosts. He said absolutely not, and explained why:
“I once spent a week fishing in Scotland as the guest of an old friend, Agnes McBlarney, who owned a 16th century manor on the bank of a famous salmon stream. The weather was chilly, the fish were uncooperative, and after several days of flogging the river to a froth, I had caught nothing but a cold.
“One evening after a long, futile day’s fishing I was thawing out in front of the fireplace with my host and a glass of Scottish cough syrup when I glanced down the hallway and saw an old woman silently gliding along. She was bathed in an eerie, shimmering glow, and her feet hovered a foot off the cobblestone floor. The apparition was clad in a tweed fishing jacket popular with the local gentry, and wore a herringbone hat festooned with salmon flies. I let out a gasp and pointed to the specter.
“Agnes peered down the hall and shrugged. ‘Hoot mon,’ he said. ‘That’s just me bonny granny. She departed this earthly realm many a year past, but her restless spirit returns to the castle now and then for a wee visit. Pay her no mind.’
“Then suddenly Agnes sat up in his chair and exclaimed: ‘But wait, see how’s she’s dressed? Me granny’s wearing her favorite fishin’ togs! And look – now she’s pointing toward the river!’
“Sure enough, the old lady raised a trembling hand and pointed northward, where the salmon stream flowed. Then, fishing attire and all, she slowly vanished before our eyes.
Agnes slapped his knee and declared, ‘Tiz a signal for sure, laddie! Me old departed granny came back to tell us that the fish will be bitin’ tomorrow!’”
Ed continued:
“Next morning, Agnes and I were on the stream at daylight. We fished all day long, casting until our arms ached – and didn’t catch a single fish. Ever since then I’ve never believed in ghosts.” |
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