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The last cast: A spooky outdoors story

OBSERVER Photo by Gene Pauszek Some vintage tackle, including a steel fishing rod with Pfluger reel on the left, that was popular back in the 1950s.

I don’t know if you believe in ghosts or not, but the following is a true story, that happened in broad daylight over 40 years ago.

My father Ray Pauszek was recently retired from the steel plant and faced with a lot of free time. I had a nice 14-foot Mirrocraft aluminum boat with a mariner outboard, and decided to spend some quality time with my dad. I worked second shift at my full time job at the Red Wing company with my shift starting at 3 p.m. I also had a part-time job working at the local newspaper the EVENING OBSERVER, which was from around noon until 2 p.m. I would pick up dad at his house, drive to the old Cassadaga Lake launch site in Lily Dale, and head to several of our fishing honey holes. Neither one of us are early risers so we were usually on the water from 9 a.m. until 11 a.m. We would fill a bucket with pan fish including sun fish and calicos, before calling it a day. We would head back to the launch which was just a gravel-filled clearing, that did not have a floating dock, or nicely cleared parking area, which is there currently.

Back when I was nimble, I would drive the bow of the boat ashore, pull the boat to a position where my dad could get out, then back the truck up with the trailer, put on waders, and put the boat on. Then we both would secure the boat with tie down straps, etc. making sure the boat was ready for the 15 minute trip home.

Here’s where it gets a little freaky. While tying down the boat I gazed across the way toward Lily Dale, and I spotted three people. One is a tall old gentleman wearing a long sleeve shirt, no hat, a pair of pants with a crease and cuffs, and in his hand is an old steel casting rod, a Pfluger style level wind reel filled with black dacron fishing line with a wooden plug attached to the business end. The man’s complexion is well tanned and he is wearing glasses. He proceeds toward the lake with a waddle like he is walking on stilts holding the rod behind him like a pitchers wind up, like he’s going to cast the lure into the next country. His two companions are female. One is obviously older, sporting dark apparel, short black hair, as well as glasses. The other lady is much younger with shoulder-length red hair, wearing glasses and a buttoned calico blouse and blue jeans that appeared comfortable but not trendy without a ’70s flair or style. She appears to be pretty in a wholesome way, not overly made up.

Just then, my dad asks something about whether or not I plugged in the trailer lights and stored the fish, and after I reply, I turn my attention back to the trio. I don’t know what happened, but the old man is standing, looking out at the lake, and the woman in black is patting his hand in a comforting way. The red head is sitting on the ground with the fishing rod across her lap, painstakingly working on a “birds nest” tangle in the reels line. It appears to be two acts of love and patience I am witnessing, with the younger girl returning a favor that she most likely had received numerous times from her older mentor. My Dad reminded me then, that I better get going if I intend to get to work on time! On the way home I ask my dad, what he thought about the trio. Why did the old guy want to make that last cast so badly? Who were his two female companions? A wife, friends, possibly two daughters? That’s when my dad asked me, “What people? I never saw anybody.”

I saw, what I saw, in detail. It has been close to 50 years since this happened, and the launch area has changed a lot since back then. I don’t exactly remember all the details like garment colors on the old timer, but I have a good recollection of the experience. It wasn’t spooky! Rather it was intriguing. Who were they? What was the old guy after? Some memorable bass or musky? He must have been a nice man for the younger woman to be willing to patiently undo the tangle while the other woman consoled him. I’d like to think they were returning a favor that he showed them in years past. I’ll never know.

I hope you enjoyed the story. I don’t drink, or do recreational drugs, and I tend to tell the truth whenever possible. I will leave you with the Fisherman’s Prayer as my farewell.

I pray that I may live to fish. Until my dying day. And when it comes to my last cast, I then most humbly pray.

When in the Lord’s great landing net, (and peacefully asleep). I pray the Lord will judge me, big enough to keep!

Gene Pauszek is the outdoor columnist for The OBSERVER.

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