THE HULA POPPER

"Dad gave up a chance to land a big one for the chance to share the Popper with me."

Aug 10, 2023

Every year from when I was in diapers to when I left home for the Army, my family spent the first two weeks of August at Schroon Lake, in the Adirondack Mountains of New York. Picture summer cottages, hiking, swimming, boating and, most important to my dad, freshwater fishing.

Those two weeks were Dad's fishing escape. When I was very young, he worked two jobs—one as an industrial engineer/salesperson at a filtration-systems warehouse, the other at the local Sears—and also served in the New Jersey National Guard; eventually he cut back to one job by moving to a sales position that required long hours and lots of driving to factories throughout the mid-Atlantic. The fishing near our home in North Jersey wasn’t great, and by the weekend he was usually too tired to drive anywhere better. So he looked forward to Schroon Lake every year.

I wasn’t much into fishing. I didn't find sitting in a boat, waiting, very exciting. But I was fascinated by Dad's big silver tackle box and the gear it held: knives, reels, dobbers and, best of all, lures. The Jitterbug. The Wounded Minnow. The River Runt. Every year, Dad treated himself to a new lure and made a ceremony of unveiling and using it on our first trip on the lake.

I was 7 or 8 the year he unveiled the Hula Popper. As he explained, it was meant to be cast near shore, or at least in shade, near cattails and water lilies, where frogs might hang out. He demonstrated, gradually reeling in the line just till it was taut—then suddenly jerking it so the Popper created a massive bubble in the water. The dancing hula skirt and the bubble’s bloop were supposed to drive largemouth bass mad, but he got no hits from that first pop. Big bass hunt early in the morning or just before sunset, when I was still asleep or getting ready for bed. Dad gave up a chance to land a big one for the chance to share the Popper with me.

I’m sure the Hula Popper was responsible the morning I awoke to the clatter of pans in the kitchen of our rented cabin and found Dad there cleaning a huge bass, the kind men tell stories about with arms up and hands yea-big apart. He was so excited and proud, he had to fry up that fish on the spot. I don't know if Mom slept through the noise or let us have the moment, but watching him fillet that fish and prepare it in the pan is one of my favorite vacation memories.

I stopped fishing with Dad when I was 12 or 13, but he never stopped sharing what he enjoyed with me. We'd watched Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck and Foghorn Leghorn together when I was young, and as I got older, he introduced me to Benny Hill and Monty Python and even sent me videotapes of his favorite shows when I was stationed overseas. Because of his record collection, I got into The Moody Blues and developed a lifelong love of progressive rock. And my greatest lifelong loves, reading and writing, grew out of the science-fiction classics—by Bradbury, Asimov, Bester—my dad shared with me.

It's been nearly 13 years since he passed. The only way I want to catch animals today is with a cell-phone camera, from my bicycle or on a hike. But if Dad was still around and invited me out on the lake, I'd be first in the boat.

—Eric Goebelbecker