Back in The Day (and by that, I mean the early 1970s) gathering bait was part of the fishing experience. Seldom did my father and I visit the bait shop. Instead, we’d drive down to the creek outside my hometown and push a seine for an afternoon, collecting plenty of what the Old Man called “crappie minnows,” along with a handful of crayfish, which would be fished on the bottom for channel cats.
Crawlers? Same story, minus the seine. Equipment? A headlamp with the requisite red lens and a Maxwell House coffee can.
“That’s two bucks a dozen you’re saving, son,” the Old Man would announce as we climbed aboard his ’65 Ford 500 Custom. Then it was off to John Shafer’s yard where, according to dad, the ’crawlers were…