I had the opportunity to revisit the relaxing recreational activity known as fishing this past weekend. Though I managed to lure three fish from Beaver Bay, I still don’t consider myself an angler. The fact that I, a junior fisherman, had the most bites in our fishing party is why I have a difficult time believing that there is any great amount of skill involved in fishing. The rod wasn’t mine. The lures weren’t mine. The bait wasn’t even mine. I simply happened to be casting and reeling the line that these small fish decided to take the bait from. Simple luck. Ironically enough, luck was the very thing that turned me off to fishing so many years ago.
As a kid, fishing with either of my grandpas was an almost religious occasion. When you went fishing, it was for the entire day. If you were on the water, you stayed on the water (even if you had to ‘go’). I tried many times to catch fish, but failed. Watching everyone else pull in their limit of fish while I picked off the weeds and re-baited my hook was enough to discourage me from liking it. It was fruitless labor. My younger brother and dad certainly looked forward to fishing more than I ever did and before long I had removed myself entirely from this great American father-son pastime because I simply had no luck with it.
My oldest son enjoys fishing and has already landed more fish than I have in my entire life, so for his sake I feel obliged to try it again. Thanks to my brother-in-law Doug and friend Kelly, I got the chance to bone up on a few things. I relearned how to tie a fisherman’s knot, how to free a line hung up in weeds and how important it is to thread your line through the eyelets of your rod (sorry Doug). Yes, for the first time in almost thirty years I actually enjoyed fishing. Thanks, guys!