When 85-year-old Walcie Porter accompanies his youngest daughter, Angie Carver, to church, they pass over a bridge that spans the Tombigbee River.
About this time of year, as they cross that bridge, Porter casts his wistful gaze over the shimmering waters and says, softly, “Another summer gone and I never made it out to fish.”
It has been the same sad refrain for four years now: “Another summer gone,” quite likely, his last summer.
Porter, who suffers from heart failure, has been a patient of Baptist Hospice Golden Triangle since April 14. Six months, incidentally, is about the average time a patient survives in hospice care, according to program director Pam Foster.
Summer is gone. The days are getting shorter. Porter knows this. He accepts it.
“When we first talked to him about hospice, I think he understood a little bit of it,” says his oldest daughter, Teresa McCown. “Now, he knows. He’s a fighter, though, the most determined man I’ve ever seen, but he’s ready for what comes.”
***
At 10 a.m. Friday, brothers Jerry and Joey Pounders are standing in the parking lot of the boat ramp at Columbus Lake, near the East Bank of the John C. Stennis Lock & Dam, waiting for their guest to get ready to go fishing. Jerry, 38, and Joey, 33, are professional fisherman – catfish fishermen to be precise.
The Columbus natives have been fishing since they were kids and have been pros since 2006. Between them, they have competed in 30 professional tournaments. Last week, Jerry and a partner finished fifth in a field of 182 teams at an event in Kentucky.
Joey has fished the most tournaments and had the best results this year. He’s won a boat and $8,000 in prize money in eight events so far. He also held the state record for catfish, a 77-pound monster that he caught on the Tombigbee, just south of the Riverwalk. The new record is just six ounces heavier.
The Pounders make a business out of catching big fish.
The time before competitions is always tense for competitors. Big prize money is at stake, and the fishermen are going over in their heads what they know about the waters, what the conditions tell them about their prospects, what gear is likely to be effective.
Jerry looks across the boat ramp, surveying the lake.
“Not good,” he says. “It’s windy and the water isn’t moving. It’s not the ideal conditions, I’ll put it like that.”
There is no big trophy at stake, no prize money on the line. It is not a competition.
But Jerry Pounders admits he is a little nervous anyway.
He glances in the direction of Porter, a tall, thin man. He is leaning on an aluminum cane, talking to a reporter from a TV crew.
Jerry grins.
“If we could put a 30- or 40-pound catfish in his lap today, I swear, I think it would be better than winning a tournament,” he says.
A few minutes later, Porter, outfitted with a life vest, is gently placed in his seat at the back of the boat, facing the big 150 horsepower motor that will soon move them into the lake toward areas the Pounders scouted earlier in the day.
As the brothers stow away the fishing gear and prepare to move away from the dock, Porter waves to the small crowd that has assembled on the bank.
“Look how happy he is,” says one spectator. “He may not come back!”
Jerry Pounders straightens up, shocked. A pained expression quickly gathers on his face.
“Ah, man, don’t say that!” he says.
“No, no, no,” the spectator answers. “I didn’t mean in that way. I meant, he’s so happy, he might make you stay out there all day.”
“Oh,” Jerry says, relieved.”That’d be OK.”
Slowly, they move out from the pier and into the lake. The big motor roars to life and soon, the boat disappears from site.
Another summer has gone, but Walcie Porter is going fishing.
Finally.
***
“A lot of people don’t have the right idea about hospice care,” Foster says. “They think it’s something that happens right at the end. That’s true sometimes, but most of the time, it’s not so much about the end of life as it is living the life the patient has left.
As part of serving its patients, Baptist Hospice started a “Priceless Wish” program about a year ago. Porter’s fishing trip was the first of what Foster hopes will be many more “wishes come true” for patients. The wishes aren’t extravagant. A wish might be a visit to a family reunion or birthday celebration, a ride on a horse, an outing or, as was the case with Porter, a fishing trip.
Porter, who retired from Baptist Memorial Hospital-Golden Triangle after 20 years in the plant operations department in 1992, is a military veteran and a former marathon runner and outdoorsman. His greatest passion, by far, is fishing.
“I have five boats,” he says proudly. “I used to have six, but I gave one to my son-in-law. So I have five now, and two of them are bass boats.”
Porter’s wish first surfaced when one of his hospice nurses heard about his love of fishing. Jerry’s wife, Nicole, an employee at hospital, heard about it and arranged to have her husband and Joey take Porter on one of their competition boats.
The Baptist Hospice team of nurses, chaplains, social workers, bereavement counselors and other staff chipped in to make the wish a reality.
***
A little before 2 p.m., the fishing party returns to the dock. As feared, the big catfish were not cooperative. The Pounders’ wish to land a 40-pounder in Porter’s lap didn’t come true. Instead, the catch was limited to three channel catfish in the two-to-three pound range.
Not that it seemed to matter.
“We had a great time,” Joey Pounders said. “We would have liked to have caught a big fish, but to tell you the truth, we were having so much fun out there, it didn’t really matter. There’s just something about being out there on the water, especially with someone like Mr. Porter, who knows so much about this river. I feel like we learned a lot just by having him out there with us.”
“I’ve been fishing the Tombigbee since I was 12 years old,” Porter said as he sat in his daughter’s car after the trip. “And I’ve fished here since the Tenn-Tom Waterway was built more than 30 years ago.”
He seemed not at all disappointed in the day’s haul on what figures to be his last fishing trip.
“I had a great time. To tell you the truth, I enjoyed watching those two fish more than fishing myself. They’re fine fellas.”
***
An hour later, Porter is back home. Teresa settles him in his favorite chair, pulls off his shoes and prepares him lunch. After eating, he reclines in his chair for a nap after a long day’s fishing.
“I know he had a great time,” Teresa says. “Before he took his nap, he told me, ‘This is something I’m going to remember forever.'”
Soon, he is dozing,
Another summer gone, but the images of his last fishing trip dance like ripples of the river in his satisfied slumber.
Slim Smith is a columnist and feature writer for The Dispatch. His email address is [email protected].
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