And Tutelage on How to Eat Them
By Glenn Theberge
On our way to the crawdad hole at Malad Gorge years ago, my sons Aaron, Luke, and I encountered a strange man who blocked the path. He was unstable and had to catch his balance occasionally. He didn’t have a sack on his back but a large, smelly bucket hung from his left hand. His clothing was ragged and his gray hair, what was left of it, was dirty and unkempt. He greeted us with a partially toothless smile that showed past his unshaven face.
“Howdy.” He dribbled spittle when he spoke.
“Hi,” I nervously replied. “Nice day.”
The breeze carried odors of fish and bourbon.
“Yep.” He groaned, and then said, “Got me some crawdads. I see you got equipment. Goin’ fishin’?”
Smilingly, I replied, “Yep, we’re going after some crawdads. What will you do with all yours?”
“Well, I’m goin’ to eat ’em. What else ya supposed to do with ’em?”
I shrugged. “Throw them back in. It’s just fun to catch them. How do you cook them, anyway?”