My Friend Kirby

Every fisherman has a friend like Kirby. Maybe not a high-octane, full strength, exact copy of him, but a reasonable facsimile of someone that is equal parts Bill Dance and part Thomas Edison.

On one hand, Kirby was always the affable and accommodating partner who was always willing to go fishing, despite the weather. Bad weather never deterred Kirby from going fishing, even when his rainsuit showed more holes than a politician’s promise. Nor did long drives, early starts, greasy food or little money. To Kirby, the good ol’days were right then and there, and together, we both soaked up every available minute we could.

I met Kirby (nick named that by his close friends and fishing associates), many years ago. To many, they could not even tell you his real name, Richard Norrell. To his parents and relatives he was known as Richard. To his many friends in life, he was just known as Kirby. Kirby’s love of life itself and love of fishing throughout these United States, was revealed to me on many, memorable occasions.

We traveled together, fishing from New York, fishing the St. Lawrence River and Lake Ontario, to the southern waters of Florida, fishing massive Lake Ocheechobee and the St. Johns River. Every fishing excursion we made, is now etched in my mind, as a memory that will never fade away. Unlike the many years of companionship we enjoyed, that now appear to have so quickly passed, during the short period of our enduring friendship.

We always fished for freshwater bass. Whether is was largemouth bass, smallmouth bass or striped bass, we always used lures to entice strikes from all of these freshwater species, never using live bait. Kirby, in all his wisdom, always declared, there was no challenge in the use of live bait. He never let his thoughts stray from the task at hand and that was putting fish in the livewell. Backing a boat and launching a trailer were mere distractions to the real game at hand. Kirby was always keyed in on the happening bite and was willing to share his most intimate fishing secrets, but only to those that were willing to listen. You see, Kirby chose his friends wisely.

Unlike myself, Kirby had fished for many saltwater species of fish. Tales of him doing battle with such saltwater species of fish as the tackle-testing sail fish, battling swordfish and the mighty barracuda, seemed minuscule, compared to the bass we managed to fool throughout the years.

But the memories of each jumping bass will forever endure, as I continue to fish, now without the smiling face of my friend Kirby beaming down from behind me in the back seat of my boat, always eyeballing my each and every cast. Still, I feel his presence. The day after I got word of his passing on, to that great big lake full of bass in the sky, I went fishing, all alone, to one of our favorite fishing holes. Just a few feet from one his biggest bass holes, I caught a bass of sizable proportions. I also had the pleasure of experiencing the mighty explosions of several heart-jarring topwater strikes, from some of the biggest striped bass I had seen in a while. Just like so many of our fishing trips before.

That day, I felt Kirby’s presence. An eagle splashed down right in front of my boat, in the cold foggy morning air. Kirby was always amazed at the many eagles we encountered and their beautiful flying glory. However, this was the first eagle I had ever seen in this one spot, in over 20 years of fishing it. In addition, a very strong and very agile 8 point buck deer bolted right down the bank beside my boat that morning.

Although physically, I knew I was all alone, I mentally felt like my friend Kirby was nearby and unknown to me, he probably was. Of course memories are about you and the people you spent part of your life doing the things you both enjoy together. As each fishing trip with Kirby came to an end, and we gathered up all his fishing tackle and rods, I always found myself wondering in the evening’s fading twilight, why I was fortunate enough to be chosen to be Kirby’s friend.

I know for a fact that I have been very fortunate to be able to say that I was one of the few people to experience the joy of his pleasant company on these many occasions. Its just that the bass fisherman in me yearns to make sense of the cosmos and gods inevitable plan for each and every human being on this earth. Every time I hear someone say,  “You can’t pick your relatives, but you can pick your friends.” I would just once wish them the pleasure of having had a friend like Kirby. You see, guys like Kirby, pick you for their friend and I’ll always be glad he did. He will be missed. May God bless.

Your fishing friend, one day we’ll be together again...

Reed Montgomery (205) 787-5133