TERRY TOMALIN. St. Petersburg Times. St. Petersburg, Fla.: Jan 6, 1995. pg. 3.C
Abstract (Document Summary)
"Okay, how about a week off from school and a room full of video games. You can play as much as you want, all night and all day?"
"I know it sounds crazy, but somebody has to hold it steady while I throw the cast net," Lahr said.
Picture it 5 a.m., the sun still hangs below the horizon as a swift current rips through Clearwater Pass. A school of bait flickers in the electric bridge light, and a lone angler readies to throw his cast net.
Copyright Times Publishing Co. Jan 6, 1995
Craig Lahr Jr. takes his fishing seriously.
There isn't much the 6-year-old would rather do.
"How about watching the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers?"
"No," he says. "Fishing."
"How about going to Chuck E Cheese's with $20 in your pocket, play all the games you want?"
He pauses for a second, then shakes his head. "Nope. Fishing."
"Okay, how about a week off from school and a room full of video games. You can play as much as you want, all night and all day?"
The silence lasts a full minute. Got him.
Then he smiles. "No, I'd still rather go fishing."
The boy's father sees his son's interest as a blessing.
"It's great for me," Lahr Sr. said. "I've got somebody to drive the boat."
Wait a minute he lets a kindergarten student drive his boat!
"I know it sounds crazy, but somebody has to hold it steady while I throw the cast net," Lahr said.
Picture it 5 a.m., the sun still hangs below the horizon as a swift current rips through Clearwater Pass. A school of bait flickers in the electric bridge light, and a lone angler readies to throw his cast net.
A slip of the wheel and the boat will be splintered against the bridge pilings. Too much pressure on the throttle and the bait will scatter.
Most adults would have a hard time pulling this off. But a 6-year-old?
"I'm telling you, he does the job," Lahr Sr. says. "Look at this. "
He holds up a photograph of the boy holding a king mackerel taller than he is.
"He fought it himself - 42 pounds," Lahr says. "I mean he fought it himself."
It was a cold, foggy Saturday morning, and the usual 15-minute run from the Belleair Causeway to Clearwater Pass took two hours. En route, the anglers stopped to catch bait.
"Where?" I ask. The boy looks at his father, wondering whether he should reveal the secret. Told you this kid takes his fishing seriously. He already has learned to guard his honey holes.
"It's okay," his father says. "Tell him."
The boy does. I make note of the spot.
Armed with a baitwell full of shad, they headed out to their fishing grounds.
"Just where was that?" I ask.
The boy looks at his father again. This kid is tough. Then Dad nods his head. The child confesses. I make another note and feel bad for a second, maybe two, for stealing a 6-year-old's fishing spot.
"We were slow-trolling shad, two rods out," Lahr Sr. explains. "We had two hits but lost them. Then the third time we got lucky. The rod bent over, and the reel started screaming."
The kingfish stripped 200 yards of 15-pound-test line in the first run.
"I turned the boat around and got as much line back as I could," Lahr says. "Then I handed the rod off to him."
The boy's smile grows wide as he remembers the fight.
"Show him what you did," Dad coaxes.
The youngster stands, holding an imaginary rod, then pumps it up and down and as he turns an imaginary reel. "Pump and reel," he says. "Pump and reel."
The fish made a second run, stripping another wad of line. Once again, Dad helped even the odds. After all, the beast weighed nearly as much as the boy.
Finally - neither knows how many cranks later - Lahr Jr. pulled the king alongside the boat and his father snagged it with the gaff.
In the boat, the fish measured 51 inches, about 2 inches more than the boy. All he could think about was showing it to his mother.
Later, she photographed her anglers in the shadow of the garage.
"But I'm telling you he did 85 percent of the work himself," the father says. "I just helped when he needed it."
But, hey, that's what dads are for.
