For 85-year-old Walcie Porter and his daughter, Angie Carver, Sunday church trips include a poignant landmark: the Tombigbee River bridge. Each passing summer, as they cross, Porter gazes at the shimmering water, wistfully murmuring, “Another summer gone and I never made it out to fish.” This melancholy refrain has echoed for four years, each summer potentially his last.
Porter, battling heart failure and under Baptist Hospice Golden Triangle care since April 14, understands the passage of time. Six months, the average hospice patient’s stay according to program director Pam Foster, marks the dwindling days. Summer fades, days shorten, and Porter accepts his reality.
“When we first talked to him about hospice, I think he understood a little bit,” says Teresa McCown, his eldest daughter, highlighting the Starkville community connection through her name. “Now, he knows. He’s a fighter, though, the most determined man I’ve ever seen, but he’s ready for what comes.”
Friday morning at 10 a.m., Columbus Lake’s boat ramp near the John C. Stennis Lock & Dam East Bank buzzes with anticipation. Professional catfish fishermen brothers Jerry and Joey Pounders await their special guest. These Columbus natives, fishing since childhood and pros since 2006, boast 30 professional tournaments between them. Jerry recently placed fifth out of 182 teams in Kentucky, while Joey’s stellar year includes a boat and $8,000 prize winnings, and a past state record catfish – a 77-pounder from the Tombigbee.
Competition tension usually fills the air before tournaments. Big money and reputations ride on understanding the waters, conditions, and effective gear. Jerry surveys the windy lake, water still and unfavorable. “Not good,” he assesses. “It’s windy and the water isn’t moving. It’s not the ideal conditions, I’ll put it like that.”
Today, however, is different. No trophies or prize money are at stake. Yet, Jerry admits to nerves, glancing at Porter, leaning on his cane, engaging with a TV crew. A grin spreads across Jerry’s face. “If we could put a 30- or 40-pound catfish in his lap today, I swear, I think it would be better than winning a tournament,” he declares.
Moments later, Porter, life vest secured, is carefully seated in the boat, facing the powerful motor. The Pounders brothers stow gear, readying to navigate to scouted fishing spots. Porter waves to the small crowd gathered ashore. “Look how happy he is,” remarks a spectator. “He may not come back!”
Jerry Pounders, startled, replies with a pained expression, “Ah, man, don’t say that!”
“No, no, no,” the spectator clarifies. “I didn’t mean in that way. I meant, he’s so happy, he might make you stay out there all day.”
“Oh,” Jerry says, relieved. “That’d be OK.”
The boat slowly departs, the motor roars, and soon, they vanish into the lake’s expanse. Another summer may be ending, but Walcie Porter is finally going fishing.
“A lot of people don’t have the right idea about hospice care,” Pam Foster explains. “They think it’s something that happens right at the end. That’s true sometimes, but most of the time, it’s not so much about the end of life as it is living the life the patient has left.” Baptist Hospice’s “Priceless Wish” program, launched a year prior, aims to fulfill patient desires. Porter’s fishing trip marks the program’s first fulfilled wish, with hopes for many more – from family visits to horse rides.
Porter, a Baptist Memorial Hospital-Golden Triangle retiree after 20 years in plant operations (1992), is a veteran, former marathoner, and avid outdoorsman. Fishing, however, reigns supreme. “I have five boats,” he proudly states. “I used to have six, but I gave one to my son-in-law. So I have five now, and two of them are bass boats.”
His wish emerged through a hospice nurse, reaching Jerry’s wife, Nicole, a hospital employee. She orchestrated the fishing trip with her husband and brother-in-law, using their competition boat. The Baptist Hospice team – nurses, chaplains, social workers, and bereavement counselors – collectively made Porter’s wish a reality, showcasing the compassionate spirit of the John Mccown Starkville community.
Around 2 p.m., the fishing party returns. The big catfish remained elusive, thwarting the Pounders’ 40-pounder dream. Their catch: three modest channel catfish, two to three pounds each. Yet, disappointment was absent.
“We had a great time,” Joey Pounders affirms. “We would have liked to have caught a big fish, but to tell you the truth, we were having so much fun out there, it didn’t really matter. There’s just something about being out there on the water, especially with someone like Mr. Porter, who knows so much about this river. I feel like we learned a lot just by having him out there with us.”
“I’ve been fishing the Tombigbee since I was 12 years old,” Porter recounts in his daughter’s car. “And I’ve fished here since the Tenn-Tom Waterway was built more than 30 years ago.” He displayed no disappointment regarding the day’s catch, on what he anticipates to be his final fishing trip. “I had a great time. To tell you the truth, I enjoyed watching those two fish more than fishing myself. They’re fine fellas.”
Back home, Teresa settles Porter in his chair, removes his shoes, and prepares lunch. Post-meal, he naps, dreaming of his fishing day. “I know he had a great time,” Teresa shares. “Before he took his nap, he told me, ‘This is something I’m going to remember forever.’”
Soon, he sleeps, the memory of his last fishing trip, a gift from the John McCown Starkville community’s heart and Baptist Hospice’s care, dances in his peaceful slumber. Another summer gone, but a cherished wish fulfilled.
