Fish Story

Nothing bonds a father and son than like a rod n reel and sometimes the student grows better than the teacher....

My earliest memories are of fishing with Dad, we fished together even before Dad saved enough money for his own boat, funny, as I lay fingers to keyboard and write this article I find myself smiling, joyous memories are indeed the catalyst for this grin..

My Dad`s best friend when I was but 7 years old was a man named Ken...He was a log scaler, and a fisher too...His boat was simple, 18 feet long, outboard motor, a little cover and a steering wheel, stiff trolling rods with big wooden Penn reels, Ken wasn`t much of a fisherman to tell ya the truth, Dad was more intense and me, I was fascinated from day one..

Dad worked many hours 6 days a week, and truth beknown Dad and Ken enjoyed a box of these stubby bottled beer while fishing, Lucky was the brand I do believe....Maybe Dad`s initial draw to fishing was a way to get out with his friend and relax over beers but whatever the draw both Dad and I became masters, although Dad never matched my ability with rod and reel, skilled fishing for me came easy, by 8 years of age I could handle big fish and smokin hot screaming reels with ease..

I don`t believe childhood ever entered my life, meaning Dad never treated me like one, Dad yelled a little bit, he was a stickler for details and things done right, I strived to do things perfectly, everything perfectly including catching fish. While fishing in those early years tide rips, sea changes, kelp lines and wildlife scenes dominated my vision, and who knows for sure, who knows for sure but I believe Mom made Dad take me with him fishing for a reason,  Mom really had me watching Dad, although me and Dad had a pact, Mom was always to be told everything was fine on our return, no matter what!

While Dad and Ken drank beer rod watching detail was my responsibility, keen eyes and a photographic memory was standard fare for this young fisher...

Fishing drew me in and held me captive, captive for life, those first few trips angling with Ken, if fishing was slow Ken would say to me, "come here, come to the side of the boat and call the fish, here fishy fishy, here fishy fishy, here fish fishy"....

I was rather a quiet shy child but the memory is clear, I remember thinking to myself, but saying nothing aloud...

 Are you an idiot Ken, that ain`t gonna work, what, does this old guy think I`m stupid...

This childish fish-calling business had to stop...On our third trip out, when Ken called me over to the side of the boat to call for fish I blurted out..

"No, I`m not calling the fish, that`s stupid and it won`t work, change the lure and re-bait the line with fresh herring, try trolling against the tide"

Ken`s mouth went agape, he looked at Dad and said..."Your son is a fisherman"

I was never asked to call the fish again, from then on I set up the lines, called the depth and made decisions on location and trolling direction, funny too, as a child car sickness for me was common yet the roughest ocean never bothered me a bit and no my birth sign was not Aquarius..

I quickly learned that slack between tides was prime-time fishing, diving birds were signs of feed-fish in the water, direction, speed, the angle of the line was important, working reef edges and shoals, apparently I was born to fish well, not sure if Dad pursued angling to please me or himself..

I suspect Dad seeing his son smiling and pleased was reward enough


After that fishing trip where Ken got an earful over fish-calling, Ken didn`t take Dad and me home, we went to Ken`s humble abode(1 block from our home)...Perhaps that day Ken and Dad had one too many Lucky beers...

On arrival to Ken`s home he looked me in the eye`s and said..

"well master fisherman, you are now old enough to drive"

Puzzlement came over me, I looked at Dad and he seemed befuddled too...Ken went to his shed and brought out a little gas powered dirt bike, he started it up, told me to get on, Ken, with about a 30 second lesson gave me the low-down on how it runs, picture in your mind a big grassy yard about 50` by 50` a fence on the street-side and wooden shed towards the back...

I was nervous, and for a reason, he told me how to steer, how to give it gas, how to go faster was a throttle on the right handle, brakes, as I found out later, much much later mind you were the foot pegs, Ken left that part out...Never wanting to disappoint Dad,....Onward ho...

Oh to remember, steering wasn`t a problem for me but easing off on throttle was, Ken told me to drive towards the shed turn around and return..

Here was this little guy mounting a small motorcycle, I hit the gas and headed off, my right hand firmly clenched on the throttle with no ability to brake, or ease off on the gas, with the shed approaching turning right was my only option, then turning right again as the perimeter fence approached the whole time gaining speed, and on the third right-hand turn now going probably 40 miles per hour with a wooden shed again approaching, approaching fast there was no way I could turn..

Dad`s son drove, at speed right through the wood-sided shed and half-way out the other side....

Dad came a running, he was screaming my name as his voice neared, apparently I mis-read the situation, for sure I was in trouble for smashing the shed and ripping the front of the bike apart...

Dad bolted into the shed, picked me up and hugged me like there was no tomorrow...The first and only thing Dad said.."I think we`ll stick to fishing"

I was completely unhurt, barely a scratch, we went home , Mom was never told, and never the wiser

Dad bought his own boat the following week and the rest is history.

Father and Son, fishing together, for life, forever....Including as I write this story with a big grin and tears of joy.

The Straight Goods

Cheers Eyes Wide Open