Name: Adam Goodson
Age: 33 Years Old
Hometown: Raleigh, NC
Why Kinston: I have college friends who live in Greensboro and Wilmington. Kinston is a great meeting point for each of us. We can hop on the River to cool off or kick up some mud on ATVs. It’s a little bit of everything with a great craft beer waiting at the end of the day.
It’s the first morning of our annual fishing weekend. I walk into the Neuse Sports Shop off Highway 70 in Kinston with my two best friends, Chase and Drew. For the past five years, we’ve been getting together to have a guys’ weekend. It’s a chance to play outdoors, catch up with each other, and get away from our day-to-day. In this instance, Drew’s t-shirt probably explains it best: "I just want to go fishing and ignore all my adult problems."
Entering the shop, we are surrounded by rows and rows of rods, reels, tackle and tackle boxes, lures, hooks, and live bait. It’s a fisherman’s dream, a striped bass’ last rights. We’re here to gear up for a day out on the Neuse River. All three of us have been fishing since we were kids. We have our favorite gear out in the truck, but it never hurts to browse around. Especially since the unspoken wager amongst the three of us is "smallest catch buys the first round."
We wander from aisle to aisle, looking, dreaming, and listening to Chase go on and on about drag systems, gear ratios, ball bearings – all the things that make the perfect reel and future "I told you so" moment. After about an hour, we make it to the checkout. Each of us stocks up on live bait and Drew picks up a new tackle box. No new reel for Chase today. But he seems content that he is leaving the store having educated the staff thoroughly.
Most of the Earth is covered in water. They say that it’s a fisherman’s job to pick out the best parts. That’s why our little group heads to Kinston each year. We have our "secret" fishing spot on the Neuse that has provided us with hours of friendly competition and endless stories (sometimes outright lies).
We drop in our kayaks at the Highway 70 boat ramp. Without giving away too much, our fishing spot is an easy two-mile paddle down the river. Today, the river is wide and calm, like an old friend welcoming us back with open arms. It takes about 30 minutes but we eventually drop our lines in the water. That’s when the talking stops and the competition begins.
Every splash of water comes with a quick head turn to see if your buddy has just reeled in a prize. Hours pass and nothing. Nothing but Chase talking about how he should have bought that new reel back at the store. Like that new reel would have made the fish appear and voluntarily hop in the cooler – an aquatic surrender of sorts. Just when we were about to call it a day, Chase gets a nibble. That nibble turns into a full-on bite. After about 15 minutes of struggle, we have our first and only prize of the trip – a 3-pound striped bass that’s about 18 inches long. Not a bad haul. Drew’s both pleased with his catch and with the fact that he will not be paying for any beers on this trip. And with that, we head off the river and to the brewery.
Within minutes, we are back at the Neuse Sports shop. But this time we are not going inside for part two of Chase’s college-level course on fishing equipment. This time we are heading just to the back of the parking lot where we find The Beer Barn. True to its name, this place is in what appears to be – you guessed it – a big barn with a covered patio.
The parking lot is full. But that just tells us we’re in the right place. We open the door and make our way to the bar. On the wall is a taxidermied deer head that stares down at us as we place our orders. Drew decides to order a flight. Because, when you’re not paying, why not? Chase decides to try Smokey Peaches, a 7.3% ABV. I settle on a pint of pale ale and join the guys outside by the lake. This place was built to wander around with a beer. Backing up to a lake filled with geese, it has a 9-hole disc golf course that includes a basket precariously placed on a small island. The conversation quickly goes from plans to visit the dragstrip tomorrow to talk of a second round at Mother Earth Brewing to how we get the fish mounted on the wall in the bar to wondering how many times someone has hit those geese with a disc. Rocket scientists and men of great thought we are not. But we are good friends who realize that true, lasting friendships are built on conversations and moments just like this.
We settle into an Adirondack chair facing the water and each of us becomes quiet. Personally, I’m thinking of getting back to our tents at Glamptopia, cleaning that striped bass, and having dinner around the fire. That’s when we all hear a splash. Instinctively we all sit up and peer out into the lake just as a large fish breaks the water and falls back under – a reminder of what we left out in the river today. As the water ripples out, Chase quickly stands. "You going back for another round?" I ask. "No, man. I gotta go get that reel." And with that, we’re already starting to plan our return visit.