More to This Nightcrawlers Story
Life Lessons at an Early Age
By Del Albright
Some of the greatest life lessons I ever learned started with a flashlight, a coffee can, and a front yard full of nightcrawlers. Back when I was just a pre-teen kid, Grandpa Albright would wake me up after dark and say something like, “Come on, boy. Time to catch bait.” That was all it took.
I’d pull on some old clothes and boots while Grandpa reminded me to grab a flashlight with fresh batteries. Not weak batteries. Not half-dead batteries. Fresh batteries. Grandpa believed in being prepared before you stepped outside the house. He also made sure I had a clean coffee can with a little loose dirt in the bottom to keep the worms cool and alive until morning. To me, it was just part of the routine.
To Grandpa, it was respect for the bait… and respect for the fishing trip to come.
His front yard seemed enormous back then. To a kid, it looked like a fresh-groomed football field. Thick green grass stretched out beneath the night sky, lined with rose bushes Grandpa cared for like members of the family. He knew every flower, every bush, every corner of that yard. Looking back now, I think tending roses probably taught him patience long before he taught it to me.
The best nights for worms were damp evenings when the ground still held moisture. Grandpa watered the lawn during the afternoon to get it attractive to the big worms. We’d move slowly across the lawn, flashlight beams sweeping quietly back and forth, searching for the shine of nightcrawlers stretched halfway out of their holes.
And that’s where the lessons really started.
“Don’t stomp around.”
“Move slow.”
“Be patient.”
“Wait for your chance.”
“If you rush, you’ll lose ’em.”
I didn’t know it at the time, but Grandpa wasn’t just teaching me how to catch worms. He was teaching me how to approach life.
Catching nightcrawlers took finesse. If you grabbed too hard, the worm broke. Too soft, and it slipped away underground. You learned patience. Timing. Persistence. You learned to pay attention. And you learned pretty quick not to give up after missing a few. Some nights we caught dozens. Other nights, hardly enough for fishing the next day. But Grandpa never complained much about it. He’d just shrug and say, “That’s the way it goes sometimes.”
Another lesson.
The next morning, we’d head out fishing with a cane pole or sometimes an old bamboo fly rod Grandpa had probably owned forever. Nothing fancy. No high-dollar gear. Just simple fishing tackle, a bobber, and a big gob of fresh nightcrawler hanging from a hook. We’d sit quietly on the bank waiting for bass, catfish, or perch to take the bait. Sometimes the bobber would twitch a little. Sometimes it disappeared fast enough to make your heart jump right out of your chest.
Grandpa loved every minute of it. Truth is, so did I. But the fishing was never really just about fishing. It was about time together.
It was about learning to slow down long enough to notice nature. To appreciate preparation. To understand that success usually starts the night before. To realize good things come to those willing to put in effort before daylight ever arrives. Those lessons followed me far beyond fishing ponds and nightcrawler hunts.
They carried into my military service, wildfire work, leadership roles, public lands advocacy, volunteerism, and life itself. The outdoors has always been one of the greatest classrooms on earth, and Grandpa Albright was one of the finest teachers I ever had. Funny thing is, back then I thought we were just catching bait. Now I understand we were building memories… and character.
These days, when I see kids glued to screens instead of flashlights sweeping across wet grass on a summer night, I sometimes wonder what lessons might be getting lost along the way. Because some of life’s biggest lessons don’t come from classrooms or speeches. Sometimes they come from a quiet old man standing in the dark with a coffee can full of worms, teaching a young boy how to pay attention to the world around him.
Grandpa thought he was teaching me how to catch fish. He was really teaching me how to approach life.
