For all the Heartbroken Fishermen
Story and Photos By eye, I sighted down the fish - ing rod as one might examine Joe McFarland a pool cue for straightness: it was perfect. Positioning my feet ne summer day squarely, I raised my official when I was a casting arm and pointed the boy my father rod skyward. I licked my fin - walked out into ger to test the wind once the middle of the more. The new life I’d always Ofront yard and placed an empty imagined was clearly ahead of coffee can in the grass. He then me—and it would be a great called me outside. life, a famous life. I saw myself “Now listen,” began my on Saturday afternoon fishing father’s rite-of-passage speech. programs, accepting giant tro - “Before you can be a fisherman, phies following major bass first you must learn how to cast tournaments I’d won easily, properly.” cameras flashing, smiling My father handed me a fish - women showering me with ing rod and reel. The coffee can champagne. was to be my target. If I could I was 7 years old. This was consistently cast a fishing lure my destiny. into the can from across the With pure confidence I yard, I would become, according swung my arm and to my father, a great fisherman. unleashed my first cast. The “It’s simple,” my father said. line swished, the reel spun. He made a few graceful sweeps of History was being made. Yet, his arm to demonstrate the technique. somehow, something astonish - Then he went back into the house. ingly different happened. There For years I had dreamed of being a great fisher - was a quick motion in the tree man. It was my destiny. At last, my initiation day across the yard. had arrived. A snag. My lure dangled hopelessly I stared at the target, imagining the perfect like a failed parachutist suspended in a tree. To fisherman’s cast. Many times I’d rehearsed this precise retrieve the lure, I pulled the line tight, but it broke— ritual in my mind. Leaving nothing to chance, ping—and so did my heart. Defiantly, I tied a new lure. I bent over and picked up a few dry grass clippings and let Within 10 minutes I realized I had the remarkable ability them fall to the ground, noting the air current. Closing one to cast a lure perfectly into any branch on any tree, a trick
There’s a reason why snapped fishing line sounds like a country song. Meet the man responsible.
14 / Outdoor Illinois October 2008 As a boy, Outdoor Illinois staff Eventually, my father walked slowly Wiping away tears, I declared myself writer Joe McFarland perfected the out into the yard, head bowed. He an expert, my sadness lifted. After looked up at the waving branch in the weeks of heartbreaking trials, I decided art of casting into trees. tree and put his hand on my shoulder. I was finally ready to go fishing. Both of us stared at the tree as if it I could perform even with my eyes held the last of something. The Real Heartbreak Begins closed. “Just like Hank Williams,” my father Balancing my fishing rod across the Occasionally my father would glance said quietly. handlebars, I immediately rode my bicy - up from his newspaper and look out And then he went back into the cle to Lake Makanda where I proudly the window to see a tree branch sway - house. stood on the shore and demonstrated ing. The high-pitched whine of fishing Weeks passed. I continued practic - perfect casts, one after another. It was line being stretched filled the neighbor - ing, determined to improve my skills. the best day of my life: The sun was hood. It reminded me of those incredi - Yet the heartbreaking sound of fishing shining. Fishermen waved at me from bly sad country songs, the kind that line stretching then snapping became their boats, tipping their hats. A light make grown men cry—yet still beg to the soundtrack of my life. breeze carried fragrant scents across hear every note. I began to listen to country music, the water. Everything was perfect. This was not the life I imagined. But sympathizing with every heartbreaking Suddenly the water exploded in fury. I was hooked. Each cast offered a fresh verse: broken hearts, broken fishing I saw a huge mouth, and dark eyes. On opportunity for redemption and the poles—their tragedy was mine. my first day of fishing I was about to chance to land a perfect cast and claim “So true,” I sobbed. “So true.” land a monster largemouth bass. It was my title. Yet all heartbreaks begin with And then one day I managed to hit as if everything was finally coming the promise of a happy ending, and fol - the coffee can. The lure rattled like a together. The line screamed out from lowing each new cast I would always chain being dropped. Then I hit the can the reel, tightening, pulling harder hear the tragic sound of country music. again—twice in a row. It felt good. against the squealing drag—the bass
October 2008 Outdoor Illinois / 15 sound Helms makes with his favorite through the curtains to see if anyone musical instrument—the steel guitar— was watching. The secret ingredient of is unmistakable. It turns out, this 81 country music was at stake. year-old bass fisherman is none other It turns out, the man who recorded than the last surviving member of an “Your Cheating Heart” and “I’m So outfit called Hank Williams and the Lonesome I Could Cry” was a crappie Drifting Cowboys, as in the Hank fisherman—a truly annoying crappie Williams, country music’s legendary, fisherman. When Williams would ask long-departed pioneer. Although Williams died back in 1953 at the age of My fishing just 29, the haunting sounds Helms “ played in the studio more than 55 years pole broke. ago continue to make generations of lis - ” teners—including fishermen—break —Hank Williams into tears. A short distance from Nashville, I Helms to go fishing, he’d make Helms ) . k i
n walked up to a pleasant-looking house drive for hours up to Kentucky Lake a m r
u and knocked on the door. while Williams slept. The trouble F n a
D “Can I help you?” a smiling man would begin the moment they hit y b o t answered. It was the man himself: Don the water. o h P ( Helms. “Hank liked to use the biggest min - “Tell me something,” I told Helms nows he could get,” Helms recalled. Hank Williams (center) and after introducing myself. “Was Hank “The problem was, you’d have to duck his Drifting Cowboys. Steel guitar Williams a good fisherman?” every time he cast because he was all player Don Helms (upper right) Immediately the smile disappeared over the place. He’d rear back, slap you found inspiration for his from his face, his eyes narrowed. in the face with a big minnow, then say mournful sounds while fishing He waved me in and closed the door. something smart like, ‘Why don’t you “Let me tell you about fishing with watch where I’m casting?’” with Williams. Hank Williams,” Helms said, each word increasingly tense. “There’s something The fisherman who invented was charging for deep water. It leaped, you should know.” the heartbreaking sound of flipping, then again, shaking wildly as For the next hour, Helms revealed the line stretched and whined. And then what had been unspoken for decades. country music playing his the bass leaped again, twisting, pulling, Occasionally, his wife Hazel would original steel guitar at a 2006 its mouth opened wider still. set down her crochet needles and peek concert near Rend Lake. I can see it today. Of course the line broke. Ping-ing. The sounds trailed across the water and immediately the fishermen in boats removed their hats and began to cry. The birds ceased to sing. Skies darkened. I will never forget that day. Yet I was hooked for life.
The Fisherman Who Started it All I have now spent the majority of my life making casts that ended in tearful tragedy. I’ve also spent as many years listening to country music, enjoying the same results. Last summer I drove down to Ten - nessee to find out why. Even if you’ve never heard of a bass fisherman named Don Helms, the
16 / Outdoor Illinois October 2008 Helms, the bass fisherman, fumed in The heartbreaking sound of their own Country music pioneer Don Helms the front of the boat. As each fishing music became the soundtrack of their explains the mystery of tangled trip progressed, anxiety built. fishing trips. fishing line to writer Joe McFarland. “Hank didn’t own a boat but he Finally, at the end of the day, Helms owned an outboard motor,” Helms said. would drive the car back to Nashville When the two musicians would rent a while Williams slept again. continues to play heartbreaking sounds boat at Kentucky Lake, Williams would “Wanna go again tomorrow?” a on his beloved Gibson steel guitar has take control of navigation duties, refreshed Williams asked after they never landed what all fishermen dream always maneuvering the boat in his arrived. He was a hooked fisherman, about: one monster trophy. favor, sometimes jamming Helms into and so was Helms, who continues to “The biggest bass I ever caught brush. Lines would tangle—then snap. fish for bass today. Yet the man who weighed 5 pounds,” Helms said, dab - bing his eyes. And then he put his hand on my shoulder. “Fish long enough,” he said, “and eventually you’ll cry.” So true … so true.
On A Sad Note
on Helms died in Tennessee D August 11, 2008 at the age of 81. Shortly before his death, Helms received a draft of this story and was able to provide additional details of his fishing trips with Hank Williams. “Not every fishing trip with Hank was that bad,” Helms told OI staff writer Joe McFarland. “We had some good times.”
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