I had the opportunity last weekend to work a Christian men’s retreat that was held over here on the lake. Like most things I’m involved with, this means I helped cook — seriously that seems like all I do — cook. However, that’s not the important part. The important part is that late in the first day an older gentleman came up to me and asked me if I was related to any Pressleys from Conyers, especially any from the West Avenue area. I said yes, my great-grandparents and my grandparents had both lived over there. 

He grinned and said your great-grandaddy was the one who taught me to bream fish. 

Now, that is not something that happens every day. This guy and I proceeded to tell stories and chat all weekend. Every time we had a chance to talk he would tell me something else about my great-grandfather. You see, his aunt and uncle moved a couple of doors down from my great-grandfather in the late 1960s. His parents moved into the neighborhood around then as well. In the afternoons, he would go bream fishing over at Abbott Lake with my great-grandfather. His name was James Pressley as well, and everyone called him either Pressley or Mr. Jim. 

In stark contrast to me, he really looked like a little old Portuguese fisherman. He was really tan and small of stature. He loved to fish and he was a construction superintendent that built among other buildings the Westin in Atlanta and worked on the Flat Iron building. During the boom in Florida in the early part of the 20^th century, he built towns like Hollywood and Venice. While down there he camped and fished all over catching huge snook. I’ve got some old black and white photos of them with just massive snook.

As we talked stories and memories came back to me. I remember after he died, he left me an old Winchester single shot .410. Man, that little shotgun and I went on plenty of adventures together. I still carry it every once in a while on a squirrel hunt.  I remember him coming to my parent’s house in Covington for fish fries and birthday parties and he’d always wear a nice fedora. One of the best pictures in the family archives in fact was him asleep in a whicker rocker one Father’s Day at our house. My new friend told me that my great-grandfather giving him his first cigarette and how he kept roll your own tobacco and Bull of the woods chewing tobacco in the front pocket of his overalls. But mostly we talked about the life lessons, the family time, the beauty we got to experience in a lifetime of chasing fish. 

For most of us that’s where it starts. Bream and a small pond. Some older gentleman teaching us to be quiet and enjoy the moments of life as the world spins around us seemingly out of control sometimes. The older I get and the more I fish the more I remember those who came before me and those lessons they taught me. Come to think of it I’ll probably fish this evening and more than likely I will light a cigar and just drift at some point watching the world around me and wonder what it will be like for my great grandchildren.

Remember — we always have time to take someone fishing. 

—Outdoors columnist James Pressley can be reached at pressleyoutdoors@gmail.com .