Actually, in all truth, a "fishing gun" is a major reason why I exist. A short tale to tell...
When my father was dating my mother, he went fishing with the "old man" to make a good impression. While out in the boat, my grandfather hooked a water moccasin just behind the head, and held it over my dad's head, as my dad tried to get away from it. At one point, he was flat on his back in the bottom of the boat, with that snake pissed off just inches away. My grandfather decided that this boy had no sand, and was not fit for his daughter.
My dad is a soft spoken man, who sees it as a failure If he has to raise his voice. He's a decon in the church, well read, well spoken, and my role model. He was silent as the boat returned to the wharf. As it touched the dock, he jumped out and walked up to the hardware store at the top of the ramp, and walked back to the gun counter. (Back then, you could buy most anything at the hardware store.)
He paid for a .22lr 9 shot revolver, loaded it , and walked back to the boat.
He pointed it at my grandfather's forehead, and said calmly, "you ever pull a stunt like that again, I will kill you."
At that moment, my grandfather realized he had misjudged the man in front of him. That revolver rode in his tackle box for the next 10 years.
My grandfather later took my mother aside, and told her he approved of the young man, and her safety would never be in doubt. He never told her why.
I'm the second child of thier union, and the story did not come out, until I was a young man.
That revolver was stolen from his home during repairs using an outside contractor. It has never been recovered.
