Pulaski High School - Oriole Yearbook (Pulaski, VA)

 - Class of 1937

Page 45 of 96

 

Pulaski High School - Oriole Yearbook (Pulaski, VA) online yearbook collection, 1937 Edition, Page 45 of 96
Page 45 of 96



Pulaski High School - Oriole Yearbook (Pulaski, VA) online yearbook collection, 1937 Edition, Page 44
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Pulaski High School - Oriole Yearbook (Pulaski, VA) online yearbook collection, 1937 Edition, Page 46
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Page 45 text:

fishing I thought I saw a large sucker glide under a large boulder near by. I waded over to it and groped underneath searching for the fish. Grasping what I thought was the sucker I pulled it from underneath the rock. In my hands was a large brown water moccasin! You can bet that I made tracks from that spot. I was so scared that I was afraid to fish with my hands for almost two weeks. This type of fishing also helps to increase the knowledge of nature. For instance, you know that if a fish avoids a certain rock there is usually a snake or turtle underneath. Also you will see that bass remain mostly in open water and seldom go under rocks. There are certain types of nature that each person likes better than another. Mine happens to be water and the inhabitants that dwell therein. This type of fishing has helped to increase my love for nature. Fishing happens to be one of my favorite hobbies, and learning the art of fishing with my hands has greatly increased the pleasure of my fishing. Watts Steger, ’37. Rut No Use If I could walk the streets once more With that straightforward tread, A T o care of mine to worry for — But no use: I’m doomed for dead. If I could see my mother, dear, And hold her close upon my breast To kiss away a wistful tear — But no use: I go where God knows best. They sentenced me to die at dawn, And even now I don’t repent The crime I did; it was not wrong — But no use: my punishment is sent. I sit here now in this dark cell, So cold with the chill of morn, For just how long I cannot tell — But no use: I die when day is bom. H. C. Vaughan, ’37.

Page 44 text:

The art of Catching fish With Your Hands I T WAS during my camping trip at Long Spur, Va., that I first learned to catch fish with my hands. We had camped for about a week, during which my friend with whom I was camping had made an acquaintance- ship with one of the local boys. One day he went with this boy on a fishing trip. I noticed that they carried no fishing equipment with them. (That was crazy, I thought.) They were gone about an hour and a half and returned with a nice catch of fish. You could have knocked me over with a feather when my friend told me that they had caught them with their hands! My friend was very enthusiastic over this new method of fishing and just couldn’t wait to show me how. I went along with him as soon as we had eaten our dinner, and I went barefooted, which was a very foolish thing to do I afterwards learned. We were camped just a short walk from Little Walker’s creek, which is shallow (about six or eight inches deep) at this point. (If the water is too deep you cannot catch fish with your hands.) Most of the bottom is composed of sharp upthurst ledges of slate which lacerated our feet terribly. It is strewn with boulders of varying sizes under which the fish hide. Wading into the water, my friend poked a long stick under a rock and succeeded in running out a fish. He ran along the bank and saw it disappear under a large rock. Reaching underneath with both hands, he brought forth a large flopping “red-eye.” As this looked simple I decided to try it. Wading out to the habitat of one of these finny creatures, I boldly thurst my hand underneath. Grop- ing about I finally grasped the fish. It felt as if I had grabbed a pincushion full of red-hot needles. With a yelp I dropped the fish while my companion rolled on the bank in a fit of laughter. I was so disgusted that I immediately returned to the camp. A few days later our parents came to visit us and we decided to catch some fish for them. We crossed the spur and covered about two miles of the creek in our fishing. When we returned we trium- phantly carried twenty-three fine specimens, none of them under eight inches, including bass, red-eyes and suckers. This was our largest catch. Later on that week I got my biggest scare in fishing. While I was



Page 46 text:

Safe in Aly Anne hair I love to sit in my armchair soft A nd read my books of below and aloft — Books of adventure, books of a dream, Books that to me so wonderful seem. That I can sit by my fireplace warm Reading of some raging storm ; That while Jim Hawkins ' life is in danger, Or the wild west life of a Texas ranger, I sit in my armchair unmindful of fear. Not one word spoken to me do I hear, So entranced by some make-believe sight, Though I try and try with all my might, I can think of nothing with more delight Than to sit within my armchair ' s height And read and dream from day into night. Ann Morehead, ’ 40 .

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