"Memory is conditioned by emotion; we remember better and more fully, things that move us." -- Isabel Allende

As regular readers of this column know, fishing with my brother-in-law Bill was like trolling for girls with Rock Hudson. In either case, you were likely to be disappointed. 

But, that's not the end of my fish story. While it's true that I was a woeful 0 for life fishing with Bill, I didn't do all my fishing with him.

Back in the day -- long before Bill's campaign to scour all the joy from my life -- I caught more than my share of fish. And, all of the credit goes to my Uncle Clio who was a fishin' fool. In the best sort of way.

If you saw Uncle Clio, you'd probably feel sorry for him. He had polio as a child, and it left his legs severely atrophied. He was lucky that he could walk at all. He was frail and tired easily, but he knew the outdoors. And, he could flat out fish. 

He and Aunt Lucy (and Cousins Dwight and Wanda) lived near the Chattahoochee River that separated southeast Alabama from southwest Georgia. Town was a distant ten miles; the river perhaps a mile as the crow flies. 

For us, country started at the city limits. This was beyond country  Boondocks. Sticks. Backwater. Choose your poison. 

But, that's okay. I liked the boondocks. It promised the kind of adventure that you couldn't find inside the city limits. Or, even in the near country. When I visited, my imagination ran even wilder than usual. Wanda was older -- and a girl! -- but Dwight was a fearless companion. 

They raised chickens -- thousands of chickens -- that had to be tended, but that left plenty of time for fishing, and as I said, Uncle Clio knew every twist and turn, every creek mouth, and every spawning pool in the nearby river. 

I recall one fishing trip in particular. We put in early -- in Uncle Clio's weathered boat. The thing hardly looked seaworthy, but we took along a couple of bailing buckets just in case. 

There was just enough room for the three of us. Uncle Clio didn't have a motor; didn't believe in them. He believed in oars. Guess who paddled and who shouted instructions? Not the agnostic.   

Once Uncle Clio had coaxed us into position near the mouth of a creek, we unstrung our cane poles and baited our hooks. We even supplied our own bait. 

Uncle Clio had shown Dwight and me how to find worms by drawing a stone across a stake in the ground and causing it to vibrate. This drove the worms crazy, and they headed for the surface where we eagerly scooped them up. Uncle Clio called it grubbing. Others called it fiddling. To a ten-year-old boy, it was pure magic. 

Pretty soon, we were catching fish hand-over-fist. An hour or so later, a big, sleek motor boat with all the bells and whistles including an electronic fishfinder came into view. Spotting us bobbing lazily in the morning mist, they pulled up nearby. One of the young men was Cecil Dupree, whose parents owned the local telephone company. 

"Having any luck," Cecil shouted across to us. "Some," Uncle Clio answered. "How 'bout ya'll?" 

"Not a bit," Cecil replied. "Let's see what you've got." 

Uncle Clio then held up a string of bream and catfish as long as your arm. Cecil's eyes got as wide as a kid's on Christmas morning. I'll never forget that moment, but I'll leave the moral to you.

When we weren't fishing or helping with chores, Dwight and I roamed far and wide in the back country.  One summer afternoon, we were racing our bikes down a dirt path when we came upon a rattlesnake blocking the way.  It was too late to stop, so we lifted our feet, held our breath, and charged ahead.  Thump, thump.  Thump, thump.

Once we were clear, we ditched the bikes and raced back to the house yelling bloody murder. Uncle Clio quieted us down, grabbed a shotgun, and followed us back to the trail. 

The snake hadn't gotten far, and while Dwight and I kept our distance, Uncle Clio blasted its head off. We dragged the prize home, counted the rattles, and took Polaroid's of us holding it up. I still have that photo. Dwight and I look like Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn. 

Uncle Clio and Aunt Lucy lived in the boondocks, but they weren't quite alone.  A honky tonk called the Bonfire Club squatted across the highway from them -- far away from the prying eyes of neighbors back in town. The parking lot filled up quickly in the evening, and you could hear the music if you sat outside. At my age, I could only imagine what went on inside. I didn't think that it could be nearly as exciting as killing a rattlesnake. 

As I grew older, I stopped visiting Uncle Clio and Aunt Lucy. I was busy with school, work, and girls. Okay, mostly school and work. 

The boondocks, once so appealing, now seemed appalling. There was no longer any magic in fiddling for bait. Unless it was jail bait.

While I was away at college, Uncle Clio finally passed away after a hard life.  Dwight was in Vietnam when his father died. 

After Uncle Clio's death, Aunt Lucy sold the place -- lock, stock, and chicken houses and moved closer to one of her sisters. Decades later, when the highway was widened, the new four-lane road bypassed their old place. I don't know what, if anything, is left of it.

A few years after Uncle Clio passed away, Aunt Lucy died of lung cancer. She and Uncle Clio had always smoked unfiltered Camels.   

Most folks smoked back then.  Doctors even appeared in cigarette ads. Smoking was glamorous. Nobody yet recognized the irony in the famous Camel slogan: "I'd walk a mile for a Camel." 

Wanda and Dwight moved away of course. There are lessons to be learned in the back country -- not to mention adventures to be had--but not much opportunity.  Or excitement if you're in a certain demographic. 

Wanda now lives in Colorado where they call the boondocks "wilderness" and consider it a destination. Dwight lives in a small city closer to home and works with computers. No Luddite he. 

And, so it goes. We all moved on.  But, not empty-handed.  Uncle Clio and Aunt Lucy were humble people who played the cards dealt them with grace. That's rarer now than then. 

For me, Uncle Clio was a sort of backwoods philosopher.  He might not have known much about modern commerce and high culture, but he knew secrets that you couldn't learn in town. Or, books. I was lucky enough to learn a few things from him. Including that fish aren't impressed by fancy boats.