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.