Fathers' Day

If there is a common thread running through my fishing life, it might be my relationships with my Dad on the one hand, and with my children on the other.   One of my earliest memories involves the mystery of the surf-fishing sticks and giant Penn reels in the Hines Road household basement, and I clearly remember a collective Father’s Day gift to my Dad of an Abu-Garcia rod and reel (which I wouldn’t mind having right now).  That combo pretty much sat in a corner until, when I was about 10 and in response to a vivid dream involving a bucket-mouth bass in our cellar, I asked my Dad if we could go fishing; and later that night we were at the bait shop purchasing floats, line and shiners.  Early the next day we were set up along the eastern shore of Stump Pond, and while I didn’t catch anything, Dad did get a yellow perch.  I don’t remember its size, but it must have been a pretty good one, too, since I’m sure the golden shiners we were using were 4-6 inches long.  I do remember the yellow sides blending into the vivid red fins, the complex jaw system and the super-spikey fins.

Yellow Perch - from the web

From that point on, we fished.  We fished at home and we travelled to fish.  We fished as a family or I fished by myself.  I became very adept at keeping shiners alive in giant Styrofoam coolers, and in my ignorant, athletic youth I wasn’t against lugging the coolers pretty significant distances for the chance of catching a bass.  We progressed from shore, through a canoe to a Bass Tracker III, which was a pretty sweet ride for the time.  We further fueled the early growth of Bass Pro Shops through Birthday and Christmas gift purchases, and occasionally we caught some fish.  From my first, 17-inch Stump Pond chain pickerel, through my Dad’s last fish, an 8- or 9-pound northern pike from Michigan’s Platte Lake, he was mostly about relaxation and sharing enjoyment.  Meanwhile, I was about the beauty and wonder of the fish in hand, but mostly about the next, bigger fish.  And while I’m sure there were tangles, knots, petulance and fatigue, lost rods and reels, bent tie rods, stuck vehicles and nearly catastrophic towing circumstances…I don’t clearly recall them.  What I do remember is my Dad’s enjoyment of the moment, his relaxation as I did all the “fishing work”, and his willingness to participate and to provide the opportunities for the next fishing event.

Chain Pickerel - from the web

Fortunately, I turned into the kind of guy that would bring a stuffed smallmouth bass to an Ivy League college.  What a trophy, it was only 4 ounces shy of the Little Rhody state record!  How could it not make a positive impression?  Somehow, inexplicably, Amy set eyes on that bass of mine and got a-wondering.  (I hate to admit, but she is of Portuguese decent.  Maybe that explains it.)  From Mink Brook through the Connecticut River, from unnamed sloppy bass ponds to Slatersville Reservoir, we shared shores, canoes and boats until we were married.  Off to Michigan, where my first strike was from a teenage King Salmon, the biggest fish of my life.  With the hook firmly set, we’re still here, and I think that fish and the promise of more, are legitimate reasons why.  We’ve added trips to Yellowstone, Glacier, Arkansas, Florida, Maine and elsewhere, with and without kids, and overall the fishing has just gotten better and more meaningful to me.

But somehow, about the time my oldest daughter Katie was born, I was probably more likely to go golfing than fishing.  Work, travel, wind; they all conspired against my love of fishing, whereas I was just good enough at golf to think I could get better and be a real player.  Golf seemed to be a more portable past-time, and wind was just part of the game, not an enemy.  But Katie’s first toy and possibly 3^rd word was “fish”, and we could fish as a family.  Playing with soft plastic baits, drawing colorful spoons, falling asleep in the boat all became part of growing up in our house.  Marie shared a Canadian Fishing Vacation while 3 months old, soured the most pristine waters in North America with a spit-dripping pacifier, has routinely run around the boat in frantic excitement, and was absorbed by the “Story of Lake Mayberry’s Old Sam.”

Brown trouting aboard Numenon

While golf fell to the wayside, we’ve all chosen to spend time on the dock at Madokawando Landing in pursuit of mackerel, stripers, crabs and lobsters; fishing equipment expanded to occupy 51% of the available storage space in the house; most of my vacation plans and pictures involve fish; and I’ve loved sharing every moment with the kids.  From the ease of fishing from the dock and at Reeds Lake to the excitement of Great Lakes Salmon Tournaments; from every aquarium visit I’ve ever imposed upon them to chasing stripers, mahi and muttons in the salt; they’ve been there, and I hope they know that they’re always welcome to share this time with me.  I also selfishly hope that I’m shaping them just a bit, tilting them towards piscatorial predilections.  Then I know I’ll have a lifetime of sharing this with them and any partners and children they may introduce into my life.

Mackerel - from the web

I originally thought this entry would close with a note about my 2012 Fathers' Day fishing adventures, but a line of early morning thunderstorms changed those plans.  And while conditions dried out early enough to allow us to get out, things were so pleasant and relaxed around the house, we simply shared a meal and tackled the day's chores together.  That doesn't mean the day was without fishing excitement, though.  Friend Kelly Swieter caught and released a 36-inch pike while mid-day trolling on Reeds Lake, and later in the day a boat quickly sunk on this lake, stranding 6 non-swimmers in the water.  So you never know what might happen on the water.  While we seek pleasure, we need to be aware of, and prepared for, bad turns of events.  And what better time than Fathers' Day to remind oneself of the need for precaution, and of the responsibility of sharing our time on the water?  What better time to reflect on the benefits of doing so?