Fishing has been a staple of life in the Flint Hills for the Barr brothers

Tuesday morning was the most recent time the Barr brothers fished together. Neither knows the date of the first time.

But it was surely before Bonnie met Clyde, when Babe Ruth was batting cleanup and America was on the cusp of economic collapse.

“We were fishing with dad when we were really small,” said Jim Barr, 91, as he arched a cast over placid waters Tuesday morning. “He worked so very hard through the depression, and fishing was about the only fun he had.”

“Dad was a really good bass fisherman,” added Gene Barr, 88. “I guess fishing is in our blood.”

The Barrs’ fishing world in the 1920s and 30s was Diamond Creek near where their grandmother’s family homesteaded in 1859. Gene Barr still lives on the property.

Like most streams in the Flint Hills, Diamond Creek was rich with fish and a steady source of food for local families during hard times. Most fished for catfish and sunfish caught on set lines or willow sticks with kite string and worms. Not Carl Barr.

Jim Barr still has his father’s old bass fishing outfit, a valued family heirloom.

“It was a 12- foot bamboo pole with eyes taped on to it,” he said. “It had a simple reel, but it was mainly just there to hold the line until dad needed it. I spent a lot of time helping him seine horned chubs for bait. Man, those things caught a lot of nice bass.”

The Barr brothers say their father was ahead of his time in some ways. He sometimes used a “spoonhook” lure for fishing.

“It was kind of like a flashy spinner,” Jim Barr said. “The bass would really hit it.” He said his father sometimes felled a tree into the creek, connecting it to shore with cable so it wouldn’t float away. He could come back later and catch bass from the submerged limbs, where they were hiding to ambush prey.

Finding time for fishing was usually tougher to find than the fish.

Tough times

The bison that awaited their ancestors were long gone by the time of the Barr brothers, and had been replaced by huge herds of cattle. Trains, Jim said, brought them thousands at a time from south Texas and Mexico, unloading them at elaborate stockyards in towns now mostly reclaimed by the prairie. From the stockyards ranch, families like the Barrs drove herds to sprawling pastures and cared for the cattle until they were fattened for market.

Growing up in the 1920s and 30s in the Flint Hills, many days the Barr boys spent more time sitting horseback than walking. Days were long.

“We’d get up at about 3 in the morning, get ready and get saddled-up and take off in the dark and help there,” Jim Barr said as he passed the location of a ranch about 10 miles from his boyhood home. “We’d work cattle all day and you know, never got paid a cent. You just knew when you needed help working cattle, your neighbors would be there to help you, too.”

He recalled long days putting up hay first on wagons drawn by giant draft horses, and finally into barns that dwarfed most houses. Many days he picked, then shucked, corn by hand for hours and hours.

“It sure wasn’t an easy way to be making a living,” he said. “Times could be pretty tough.”

When the Barrs shake your hand, the strong grip and remnants of callouses telegraph rugged work they did for many decades. But the cattle culture can be a tough lifestyle to leave.

As well as selling real estate and other occupations, Jim Barr owned or managed cattle until a few years ago. He was still riding a good horse, and actively working cattle at 90.

(Not bad for a man deemed not fit enough to serve by the Army when he tried to enlist shortly after Pearl Harbor.)

“I really miss my horses and my cattle,” he said as he looked at a herd on his younger brother’s spread. “I hated to give it up.”

Neither Barr has had to give up their beloved fishing, or their desire to learn more about the sport.

Still fishing

A school teacher in a one-room school was probably introducing first-grader Jim Barr to writing when the stock market crashed in ’29. The lessons stuck well.

Three weeks ago a letter arrived at The Eagle, the penned cursive as neat as if from a laser printer. Jim Barr gave his age and had questions about a lure I’d featured on the Outdoors page. I wrote and asked him to call.

He promptly wrote back stating because of his bad hearing we should discuss the matter on a bass fishing trip with his “little brother.”

Tuesday in Jim’s truck we rode a ranch road that split lush grasses belly-high on plump cattle. Pastel purples, pinks and yellows of wild flowers dotted the green landscape that stretched for miles. Rounding the edge of a ridge we came upon a 20 acre watershed lake that all but screamed “fish here!” When Gene Barr arrived, that’s what we did.

The Barr brothers share about 170 years of combined bass fishing knowledge, but they split to start fishing. Jim Barr took me out in a small boat while his brother cast a spinnerbait from shore. Gene caught three before we got off our first casts but we all did well.

After about one hour, and probably 20 fish, Gene Barr headed for his truck.

“I’ve got to go to a doctor’s appointment,” he said as he put up his rod. “At this age it seems like that’s about all you do is go to the doctor.”

As we continued to fish in the boat, Jim Barr confided he’d had open heart surgery, but basically enjoys good health. He doesn’t need glasses, even to thread fine fishing line through the tiny eye of a hook. He’s avoided things like prostrate cancer, which took so many of his friends through the years.

“I’ve got it pretty danged good and you’d better believe I give thanks for that every night,” he said, adding the same for his 62 year marriage to his wife, Darlene. “I was blessed with a good one there, too.”

But 91 years lived actively takes a toll. After about 90 minutes in the boat his legs needed a stretch so we fished from shore. He walked to a few spots, caught several more fish, then sat in the truck and watched me cast. He came and helped when I was landing a 12-pound channel cat that hit a tiny Ned Rig.

As we took a few photos Jim mentioned it gets a little more difficult to get around every year.

“I guess that’s why you need to fish more this year, if it’s going to be hard next year,” I joked.

“That’s probably right,” Jim Barr said, looking out over the lake and the Flint Hills. “I just don’t see how sitting around and watching television has much of a future.”

This story was originally published July 4, 2015 at 5:01 PM with the headline "Fishing has been a staple of life in the Flint Hills for the Barr brothers."