Little did I know, so many years ago when my father introduced me and my siblings to fishing and hunting that it would become such a driving force in my life. Back then, it was just fun and for a tomboy daddy’s girl I couldn’t have asked for more. Today the memories, though far off, are still vivid and I realize what a precious gift my father has bestowed on us.
My favorite thoughts are of our family camping trips. Every year my family, along with my dad’s sister’s families, (six adults and eleven children) would go on a two-week camping trip. Those two weeks were total freedom to us kids. Off we went through the woods, the warnings of poison ivy forgotten almost as soon as they were uttered. We would head to the beach and swim whenever we wanted. Each evening we would spread out into the three camps, the adults in one, the younger kids in the middle campsite, the older kids at the other end. The campfires were lit and we would talk, joke and tease until late in the evening.
Best of all of course there were the afternoon fishing trips. My dad and uncles would launch the boats and all of us kids would pile in. We would then head out to the weed beds where we were sure to find plenty of Blue Gills and Sun Fish. Thinking back it must have been quite comical to the other campers, and I’m sure we contributed more than a few gray hairs to my dad’s head. There he would be with four kids in a boat; “Daddy, put a worm on for me”, “Daddy, I got one, what do I do”; “Hey Dad, can I jump in and go swimming”. The cousins in the surrounding boats didn’t help any. "Hey, bet you can’t do a cannonball off the boat”, "Hey, you threw your line over mine, get on your own side of the lake”, “I caught a bigger one than you”. It continued through the afternoon. "Nothing's biting my worm, throw it where I’ll catch a fish”, "Hey Dad, let’s row all the way across the lake”, “Daddy, I gotta go potty”. My father would respond to each of us in turn, taking his knowledge, experience and patience and conveying it in child-friendly terms and demonstrations.
In spite of us, we caught fish and in spite of us, we did it again the next day and the next and the next. Finally, at the end of the week we would feast. The fish caught each day were carefully cleaned and placed on ice and on Friday night of each week we all gathered in one campsite and had a fish fry; my mouth waters just thinking about it. The fire would be lit and the big cast iron fry pan set over it. After it was heated up just right the fish would be fried and served with buttered rye bread and coleslaw.
I know now, that my father could easily have taken those vacations and fishing trips with his buddies and probably would have been more successful, but he chose to share the experience with his children. The seeds he planted and nurtured over the years have grown and blossomed.
Somewhere, some how, as time passed and other activities and adolescent events took precedent the camping trips stopped. I was hooked on fishing though, as are two of my brothers. My youngest brother and I both enjoy fishing for pan fish and Bass, as well as ice fishing. I also like fishing for Lake Trout and Salmon. My older brother likes to fish but prefers fly-fishing. My youngest sister is the only member of the family who didn’t develop an interest, in spite of my father’s best efforts.
Throughout the years there were more fishing trips and my knowledge and enjoyment grew. I love to fish and get out on the water as often as possible. There’s nothing more refreshing after a hard day at work than to launch the boat and head out to the weed beds where I’m sure to find plenty of Blue Gills and Sun Fish.
