For most of us, our fishing career began at a young age. The ride to the river or lake was a close second only to the anticipation and sleepless night before going fishing. It usually involved a quick stop at the bait store in the morning to pick up the crickets and worms that would aid in the excitement about to unfold on the water. After listening impatiently to the adults discuss what is working and where they have been ‘gettin’ em’, you raced to the truck ready for a full day of excitement.
For me, it was hucking a cricket, attached to a short rod and closed-face reel, as far as I could and waiting for that subtle movement that indicated a bluegill was inhaling my bait. I entertained myself by chasing the crickets that got loose the last time I dropped the bait box.
Sometimes, I dug in the worm dirt for that one lunker of a nightcrawler we picked up the last time it rained. Some days, that bobber would drop time after time and the five-gallon bucket would fill up quickly. Other days, I had more bait in the bottom of the boat than in the containers.
My father had the patience to take me on these weekend trips and I don’t really remember how many fish I caught or the days when we didn’t catch any. What I recall is the solitude of being on the water, the beauty around me, and the wildlife we sometimes saw creeping through the trees or sharing the water with us.
In the off-season I often think of those simple times and how much fun it was to just go fishing. I have since been able to return the favor to my parents. Now I’m the one tying on their fly and netting their fish. I have also been fortunate to meet and become good friends with many people that have the same love of the outdoors as I do.
Every season I look forward to seeing and spending time on the river with those special people. We catch up on what is happening in our lives. Sometimes, the next generation is brought to fishing camp and I get to enjoy that excited look when they first see the river. That first fish always brings a loud war cry from everybody in the boat as we drift down the river with smiles from ear-to-ear. I have, on occasion, had three generations fish together. I’ve watched the pride trickle down as the youngster starts picking up the routine and needs less and less instruction by days end.
This is a place where the phone doesn’t ring, the remote control is a distant memory, and all other matters disappear. There is only the river, great company, and the anticipation of that next fish rising to the fly. The places we go and the people we meet along the way are one of the many special things about the great sport of fly-fishing. As we introduce the younger generation to our sport, we ensure that the future of our rivers and strong family bonds last a lifetime.
