Dad loved fishing on Buckeye Lake!!
These are a few poems that He wrote about the fish that He caught!!
There is no finer treat or dish,
Than a platter full of fresh catfish.
Rolled in cornmeal, fried up well,
My, how deliously they smell.
Fried in butter, golden brown,
Still I know, some folks will frown.
But just the same, It's quite a dish,
These rolled in cornmeal, fried catfish.
Now this the best, you caught them all,
None too large or none too small.
To catch a mess, that was your wish,
A mess of speckled, gray catfish.
E.H. Coe 1973
The white bass ran the feeder,
The first two weeks of May.
The anglers lined both side the banks,
To take a catch away.
With catches of a hundred,
Sometimes more or less.
They took away alot of bass,
How many we can't guess.
This happens every year in May,
The reason's not quite plain.
They run the feeder, every year,
And they'll return again.
This has been going on for years,
How many we don't know.
But take my word, come May next year,
Come try it, for it's so!
E.H. Coe 1972
There's nothing quite like when you cast,
A hook into a lunker bass.
To see him make the water's churn,
His reputation for to earn.
He fights you hard, for he must see,
If you've got him, or he goes free.
He'll break the water, flipping tail,
And through the water, he will sail.
He'll run you out, then slip right back,
Trying hard to get the slack
To snap your line, and then he'll be,
Laughing at you, for he's free.
So keep tight lines, he's worth the try,
And net him as he passes by.
Then you can tell of when you cast,
Your hook into a lunker bass!
E.H. Coe 1972