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?”