Columnist Susan Snyder: Man lured to the great outdoors

Saturday, June 12, 2004 | 12:12 p.m.

Susan Snyder's column appears Mondays, Tuesdays, Fridays and Sundays. Reach her at snyder@lasvegassun.com or (702) 259-4082.

WEEKEND EDITION

June 12 - 13, 2004

The classified advertisement under the "miscellaneous" heading was a brief, regular-guy listing of 16 words:

"Collection of 2,000 fishing lures recovered from Lake Mead and Mohave since 1964. Display case included. $3,000."

So I bit, and reeled in a big one. The collection belonged to John Kimak, a retired high school English teacher and also retired outdoors columnist for the Las Vegas Review-Journal.

Kimak imparted his angling passion and proficiency not only to his readers, but to those who enrolled in his clinics, his Chaparral High School students, the members of Blind Center of Nevada fishing club he led for 23 years, and the countless children with disabilities who enjoyed fishing excursions with him.

But this big fish is moving to a smaller pond. And the enormous collection of lures he amassed over 40 years of fishing trips are among the items he doesn't plan to take with him to Ely.

"I'm in no rush," he said. "I just need to move around while I still can move around."

Three dozen cases of collectible lures, each one tagged for identification, were stacked next to it. Dating from 1895, some of them are worth $200 or more. These weren't acquired from the manmade lakes east of town, and they aren't among those mentioned in the ad.

The collection for sale was enclosed in four flat glass-topped cases. Some still were as brightly colored and shiny as when they first emerged from the tackle box. Others had been dulled or stripped of paint completely by years underwater.

The oldest of those for sale date to the mid-1930s, when the Hoover Dam was finished and the lakes began to fill.

Kimak found the first of them shortly after moving to Las Vegas in 1964. He was fishing in the Overton area of Lake Mohave and spotted the lures as he explored the shoreline's high-water mark.

"You'd go out there before it got light and get in an area where the wind was blowing into a cove. I found seven lures in one morning," Kimak said. "When the water was down, they'd be hanging on the bushes."

With a disturbing level of confidence he jammed his hand into the jumble of colorful hooks and pulled out a yellow object about 5 inches long with black stripes.

"This is a hellbender -- for walleye pike," he said.

Kimak used the sport to broaden life's pleasure for others. He fashioned key chains from fishing lures for his straight-A students. People with disabilities gained confidence and independence at the end of a pole.

Kimak says he only shared what he had to give. But there's no hiding how much he cared. He recalled an outing a few years back during which a little boy with a disability didn't catch a fish.

"He was crying and crying. There were two people sitting there with big stringers of fish, but do you think they would give that little boy one? No," Kimak said, his jawline hardening as he spoke. "I even asked them, and they said no."

Kimak figures there are plenty of lakes left to explore, so he plans to wander where life's currents take him. And if the lakes give him fish, he'll accept them. And he'll give them away.

"Oh, I hate 'em," Kimak said. "Don't eat fish."