When fishing is more than just fishing
I do believe spring just might finally be here. As I look out the window of Augie’s Adventures office, I see the budding colors of spring. This can only means one thing, time to dust off the fishing rods.
Fishing has been, and continues to be, an important part of my life. But not in the size of the catch or the number of fish caught. Reflecting back there are a few fishing afternoons that transcends the tap on the line or the bend of the rod.
Fishing with the kids was more than just fishing
My daughters are older now and their time is filled with teenage pursuits. But there once was a simpler time. Both of them caught their first fish at the local Westminster City pond at an early age of 3 or 4. Yes, my kids were still in diapers when they caught their first fish. With little #8 hooks tipped with rolled up bread balls hanging under pink bobbers, we would fish. The fishing would last a few minutes, before we would run over to the playground and swing for a while. Back and forth, we would fish and play all afternoon. The small catfish and bluegills readily bit the bait; rarely did a bobber go a minute before dancing. I’ve caught steelheads in Alaska, mako sharks off the Atlantic coast and eight pound largemouth bass, but those four inch bluegills are the best fishing memories. Yep, we were fishing. But it was more than just fishing.
Fishing with Dad was more than just fishing
My father passed away three years ago. Just as the illness began to set in, we spent a morning fishing together. In the back waters around Myrtle Beach we watched the sun rise while catching sea trout. I’m finding it hard to write the words so let me just say, hardly a day goes by I don’t think of my father and remember not only the sea trout of that day, but the many days we spent fishing together. Yep, we were fishing. But it was more than just fishing.
Fishing with my Grandfather was more than just fishing
My first hero was my grandfather. He traveled the world hunting and fishing those places I had only read about in magazines. Before the days of TV hunting and fishing shows touting massive antlers and 10 pound largemouth bass, he was living the life. When I search the memories of our fishing trips, two quickly come to mind.
The first is an afternoon catfishing the Susquehanna River. When I was about twelve years old, We walked a mile along the railroad tracks to the perfect spot and were rewarded with a load of fish that was almost too much to carry back to the truck. In the years since, I’ve spent countless evenings on the Susquehanna catfishing.
On the second fishing trip fishing with my grandfather that I fondly remember, we never even got a bite. Age was getting the best of him. I was a young adult stretching out on my own. I made a call and picked him up in my jacked up pickup truck and took him trout fishing. On the bank of a Pennsylvania lake we spent an afternoon with our lines in the water. I asked a million questions. What was it like hunting in Africa? Did the Water Buffalo charge after you shot it? Where did you kill that huge elk in the basement? How bad was driving the Alaskan highway back when it first opened? He told stories. I listened. Yep, we were fishing. But it was more than just fishing.