Generational fishing...

An earlier post asking when to start kids fishing brought back such pleasant memories...

I took our oldest son Dave fishing for the first time when he was 4 in a Pennsylvania farm pond. He caught a little bluegill on the edge of the dock and he handled the rod mostly by himself. It didn't occur to me at the time to tell him how to reel in the fish so he proceeded to reel that little thing clear to the top of the rod - its fish lips were plastered against the top guide sticking straight out like a flag - it was hilarious then and I remember it vividly to this day.


Later, I started taking Dave and our daughter Kris when they were about 10 and 8 years old fishing from a rental row boat on a small lake in Wisconsin. I initially thought I was going to get to fish, too, but was soon educated about two kids in a boat trying to fish. We had good times but I didn't do much fishing when I had them along. They did learn to fish, though.


Later, our third son Jon came along and by then I had a process for getting little kids fishing - I learned more about patience. Not sure I actually learned patience, but I did learn more about it.


So, a few years later I was recovering from a heart attack and at the end of my recovery period that summer we all went up to a secluded cabin for a week in northern Wisconsin - in addition to our three kids we brought along Sean, one of their cousins. By that time the kids were pretty well established fishermen aged 12 to 16.

One beautiful sunny morning I woke up early in the cabin to go fishing. I looked for the kids but they were all gone. My wife was still in bed, so I grabbed a cup of coffee and my little tackle box and spinning reel and walked down the hill to the dock. I looked out over the lake and there they were - in three different boats, scattered all over the lake each out there fishing. It made me immensely proud that we had gotten them to such a point of interest and independence. That is a memory I shall always cherish. And they did catch fish.

I got in a rowboat by the dock, put my coffee mug down beside me and strung up my rod with a Hula Popper. The water was absolutely still - a classic mirror surface - perfect for popping. I pushed off with the oars and started drifting down the shoreline, casting as I went. Slowly, slowly, just occasionally giving the oars a pull or a tug to keep parallel to the shore.


I was using the old method of casting the plug and allowing it to sit for a long time before twitching it. Barely reeling in the line to get the slack out, just letting it sit in the still water.


About a hundred yards down from the dock a massive old pine tree had fallen over in to the lake. It had been there for years and its branches were spindly and spiky as they disappeared in the clear water. As I drifted closer to the tree I was thinking of the many, many times I had seen my father fish situations just like this. He died about 6 months before my heart attack that Spring. Usually I was watching him from a distance on the shore of the lake where we used to stay during our one-week summer vacation in Ohio. He would sit out there in his little rowboat and smoke his pipe and cast in to the drowned trees along the bank of the lake for hours.


I inched just close enough to reach the old tree and cast the Hula Popper to the outside edge of the limbs as they dropped off into deep water. The popper sat there, unmoving. The ripples died away. I slowly winched the line tight, ever so slowly so as not to move the popper. When I couldn?t stand it any longer I gave it a little twitch and at that instant a three pound largemouth underneath it just sucked it in. No splash, no tail jumping, just a vacuum from below and we were off to the races. He dove into cover and I pulled him back out - my old Cardinal spinning reel drag knob was easily accessible so I could feather it as he kept trying to get into the tree. Back and forth we went - after a short tense fight I had him beside the boat and brought him aboard.


I have caught bigger fish of all kinds and in a variety of ways but that fish gave me more satisfaction than any other. It tied three generations of our family together that morning.

As I later reflected on that day I realized that without thinking about it I had gotten up in the morning, dressed almost identically the way my Dad did when he went fishing then proceeded to fish in the same way. About the only difference was I didn't smoke a pipe.


I have posted on this board in another place how after retiring a year ago I taught my kids and son-in-law how to fly fish. Actually, 'cast a fly rod' would be more descriptive - except in the case of our youngest son, Jon, out in Colorado. In just a year and a half he has become a capable and successful fly fisherman out on the South Platte and Big Thompson rivers. I now find that when we fish together he is teaching me about presentation and other aspects of the sport.

Our grandkids are beginning to learn to fish now - we took our first grandchild Emily out on Lake Michigan perch fishing last summer before her family moved to North Carolina. She had a blast. For her 7^th birthday this past December I gave her a fly rod. Our 4 year old grandson Peter will get his first fly rod in April and his baby brother Shamus got his rod at his birth a year and a half ago:


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How wonderful and blessed it is to live long enough to watch this cycle repeat itself!

K7, it always warms the cockles of my heart to read a story such as yours. Thank you.

I loved your story and it reminded me of a fishing trip that my father and I took. My parents were divorced when I was young and many years later he remarried but, unfortunately his new wife would not let him have much contact with me or my brother but, that's another story. One day, he invited me to meet him at his mother in laws lake house and we took a small rowboat out onto the lake. I had just started flyfishing and didn't know how to cast very well. I was fishing with an old Phillipson Master(which I still have today) and a SA Angler reel. It was a 5wt setup. Most times when I cast I either caught myself or I would cast a clump of line that landed in a nice pile on the water. I was constantly untangling my leader. Anyway, we found a place with lots of racoon tail grass growing. It was a hot July day day and the Bass were feeding on top so, I tied on a white popper and waited to see a rise. I saw a rise about 30' to my right and made my cast. For some reason, it was a perfect cast and the fly settled nicely dead center of where I saw the rise. All of a sudden the water exploded and I began a fight with the first fish I had caught on my fly rod. Ater about 20 minutes I finally got the Bass to the boat and it turned out to be a 8lb LM Bass. I was so excited, not only about the fish but, having my dad there to share it with me. My dad has long passed away but, I will have that memory atleast until I lose mine.

Thanks for sharing and I would love to hear more stories shared about memorable times with children or parents.

Wonderful stories.

Having grown up in the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn, my father didn't fish. However, I had always been interested in water - swimming, surfing, sailboarding what have you.

About 16 years ago now, I decided I wanted to learn how to flyfish and went to the Orvis school in Vermont. At the time, I was living across the street from the Jackson Park Lagoon which is stocked with gills, largemouth, catfish and carp. I'd take my kids there with Mickey Mouse rods and maggots (euphemistically called "bee moths.") in the hopes that they would grow to love fishing and someday fish with me.


My oldest, Nathaniel, was about 9 when I arrranged with a guide, and good friend, to teach Nathaniel to fly cast and take us out on a drift boat on the Wisconsin River for smallies, white bass, and maybe even a pike.

After working with Nathaniel for about a half hour on casting, we got in the boat and took off. The day was slooooooowwwww. Nothing, all day long, Nathaniel took it in good spirits (his highligt was eating lunch on a sand bar in the middle of the river), but Phil the guide was not happy.

Finally, late afternoon, Nathaniel gets a strike...his rod is bouncing everywhere. Phil is screaming, "Set, set, set." Nathaniel's screaming, I'm screaming. Phil is still screaming "set, set, set" at the top of his lungs. After what seemed like 30 seconds, Nathaniel's line goes slack.

Nathaniel is as angry as a 9 yr olde can get. I'm stunned. Phil is beside himself, sitting down with his head in his hands. Finally, Phil gets himself together and says, "Why didn't you set?"

Nathaniel looked him and says, "Nobody told me what 'set' means."

Today, this is a favorite story. Thankfully, we had floated into a huge pod of hungry smallies and whites and got a full day's worth of fish in about 45 minutes.

Nathaniel's now at college and works. Last summer was the first we didn't at least spend one day flyfishing together. His sister, Eden (16), now joins me regularly.

Encourage Eden all you can - we girls can really take to fly fishing *S* You'll have a wonderful fishing companion.

I think Eden enjoys the camping, creekside lunches, standing in moving water, and hanging out with her father more than the fishing itself - not that I'm complaining :)