Lured In
01-17-2003, 09:23 AM
The tradition of first stories hadn't started when I joined ifish (back in the day), so I thought I would share this. For those of you with kids, you can probably relate.
My father was a Navy officer who was raised by a Navy officer and spent much of his youth growing up in Kodiak, Alaska. That was mis-spent youth in its own right. Needless to say my father was reasonably strict.
At the ripe old age of five, my dad decided it was time to introduce me and my older brother to fishing. We were stationed in Virginia Beach, VA and my dad wanted to take us bass fishing on the Back Bay which is mostly brackish water (salt and fresh water mix). So he checked out a 14 foot john boat from the Navy recreational center and strapped it to the roof of our powder blue 1960's something Chevy Impala. I remember that car distinctly as it had one of those non-descript white vinyl/naugahide/leather roof coverings.
On his way home he picked up two green and white Zebco 202 rod and reel combos. If you remeber these, they were composed of some space age compound that was neither plastic nor fiberglass, but highly resistant to the abuse a child would dish out.
Early the following morning we rose in the dark, jumped in Impala with the boat on top and headed to the bay. I don't remember much of the ride, but I do remember stopping to buy a minnow bucket and shiners. My brother and I thought that was pretty cool.
We finally arrive at the bay and my father opens the trunk and put our classic interanational orange PFD's over our heads. He tells us to stay put (next to the car), while he unloads the boat and gets the motor hooked up. The dock, if you could call it that, was about 20 feet long and narrowed as it extended from the beach. My father was finishing loading our gear into the boat as my brother and I crept closer and closer to the water. I don't remember exactly how I got there, but I remember my father telling me to get off the dock. So I stepped backwards to turn, and into the water I went. As my father describes it, he said I was basically a face floating in the middle of the life jacket, since it had not been fastened yet. Being five years old and all of about 3 feet tall, I am dog paddling like an Olympic Champion to keep from drowning. My father jumps in to rescue me and before I know it, I am back on the dock. My dad is now standing waist deep in the water. As I look down I say, "DAD...I saw a fish!". Needless to say he was not happy. Primarily because he got his cigarettes wet, but he said it was because he got his wallet wet too. He asks if I want to go home and I say no.
Finally we are in the boat and heading out to fish. My dad finds a likely spot and drops anchor. Meanwhile, my brother and I are deep into a game of chase the shiners around the minnow bucket. My dad rigs up our 202's with a red and white bobber, a shiner and then casts them out. As they hit the water my dad says, "Now keep and eye on your bobber, boys." I think my brother and I watched the bobbers for maybe ten seconds before resuming the game of chase the shiners around the minow bucket. My father was busy rigging his 'fancy' yellow spinning rod with jitterbugs and other lures, while my brother and I were harrassing the shiners.
At some point, my dad turns and says, "Eric your bobber went down, quick get your rod." My rod had been laying on the gunwhale somewhere. So I turn to look for it, find it, and look at my dad like, "Okay now what"? He says "Reel!" So I reel. As I am reeling the 'fiber-plastic' rod bends over to the point that I have just reeled the tip into the water. My dad say, "Pull Up!" So I try but can't seem to move my rod. Thinking I was snagged, my dad (now aggrevated) grabs my rod and gives a yank. All of sudden the 202 is screaming line off as my dad frantically attempts to get the drag tightened up. He is finally able to stop the fish and asks if I want the rod back. Looking at the rod, I say, "no you go ahead." So after a few minutes of battling the fish, my dad, "Here it comes boys, get ready." At this point my brother and I assume a position on the gunwhale where most of our bodies are leaning over the side with the line running between our heads, looking down to see the fish.
All we can see is the grass on the bottom about 3 feet down. All of sudden up from the grass comes the huge mouth, the size of my head, with grass all over it. At the sight of this my brother and I leap backwards to the opposite side of the boat, nearly tipping it. My dad reaches over and hoists the massive bass from the water. I remember sitting there in amazment at this huge fish. Finally I say, "Boy dad, I caught a big fish, didn't I?" My dad simply replies, "Yes, son, you sure did." So we put the bass on the metal stringer and continued fishing.
We fished for awhile longer and it was finally time to go home. My dad picked up another good size bass (about 5 pounds) and my brother caught a perch. After getting home, my dad measured and wieghed MY fish. It was 18.5" long and wieghed 8 pounds.
Needless to say, no one in my family has even come close to a bass of that size since. And now that we are in the great northwest we rarely fish for bass anymore. That hardly matters though as my father gave me one of the greatest gifts ever that day. He passed on a love for fishing that is passionately pursued today, some 26 years later. Thanks dad.
My father was a Navy officer who was raised by a Navy officer and spent much of his youth growing up in Kodiak, Alaska. That was mis-spent youth in its own right. Needless to say my father was reasonably strict.
At the ripe old age of five, my dad decided it was time to introduce me and my older brother to fishing. We were stationed in Virginia Beach, VA and my dad wanted to take us bass fishing on the Back Bay which is mostly brackish water (salt and fresh water mix). So he checked out a 14 foot john boat from the Navy recreational center and strapped it to the roof of our powder blue 1960's something Chevy Impala. I remember that car distinctly as it had one of those non-descript white vinyl/naugahide/leather roof coverings.
On his way home he picked up two green and white Zebco 202 rod and reel combos. If you remeber these, they were composed of some space age compound that was neither plastic nor fiberglass, but highly resistant to the abuse a child would dish out.
Early the following morning we rose in the dark, jumped in Impala with the boat on top and headed to the bay. I don't remember much of the ride, but I do remember stopping to buy a minnow bucket and shiners. My brother and I thought that was pretty cool.
We finally arrive at the bay and my father opens the trunk and put our classic interanational orange PFD's over our heads. He tells us to stay put (next to the car), while he unloads the boat and gets the motor hooked up. The dock, if you could call it that, was about 20 feet long and narrowed as it extended from the beach. My father was finishing loading our gear into the boat as my brother and I crept closer and closer to the water. I don't remember exactly how I got there, but I remember my father telling me to get off the dock. So I stepped backwards to turn, and into the water I went. As my father describes it, he said I was basically a face floating in the middle of the life jacket, since it had not been fastened yet. Being five years old and all of about 3 feet tall, I am dog paddling like an Olympic Champion to keep from drowning. My father jumps in to rescue me and before I know it, I am back on the dock. My dad is now standing waist deep in the water. As I look down I say, "DAD...I saw a fish!". Needless to say he was not happy. Primarily because he got his cigarettes wet, but he said it was because he got his wallet wet too. He asks if I want to go home and I say no.
Finally we are in the boat and heading out to fish. My dad finds a likely spot and drops anchor. Meanwhile, my brother and I are deep into a game of chase the shiners around the minnow bucket. My dad rigs up our 202's with a red and white bobber, a shiner and then casts them out. As they hit the water my dad says, "Now keep and eye on your bobber, boys." I think my brother and I watched the bobbers for maybe ten seconds before resuming the game of chase the shiners around the minow bucket. My father was busy rigging his 'fancy' yellow spinning rod with jitterbugs and other lures, while my brother and I were harrassing the shiners.
At some point, my dad turns and says, "Eric your bobber went down, quick get your rod." My rod had been laying on the gunwhale somewhere. So I turn to look for it, find it, and look at my dad like, "Okay now what"? He says "Reel!" So I reel. As I am reeling the 'fiber-plastic' rod bends over to the point that I have just reeled the tip into the water. My dad say, "Pull Up!" So I try but can't seem to move my rod. Thinking I was snagged, my dad (now aggrevated) grabs my rod and gives a yank. All of sudden the 202 is screaming line off as my dad frantically attempts to get the drag tightened up. He is finally able to stop the fish and asks if I want the rod back. Looking at the rod, I say, "no you go ahead." So after a few minutes of battling the fish, my dad, "Here it comes boys, get ready." At this point my brother and I assume a position on the gunwhale where most of our bodies are leaning over the side with the line running between our heads, looking down to see the fish.
All we can see is the grass on the bottom about 3 feet down. All of sudden up from the grass comes the huge mouth, the size of my head, with grass all over it. At the sight of this my brother and I leap backwards to the opposite side of the boat, nearly tipping it. My dad reaches over and hoists the massive bass from the water. I remember sitting there in amazment at this huge fish. Finally I say, "Boy dad, I caught a big fish, didn't I?" My dad simply replies, "Yes, son, you sure did." So we put the bass on the metal stringer and continued fishing.
We fished for awhile longer and it was finally time to go home. My dad picked up another good size bass (about 5 pounds) and my brother caught a perch. After getting home, my dad measured and wieghed MY fish. It was 18.5" long and wieghed 8 pounds.
Needless to say, no one in my family has even come close to a bass of that size since. And now that we are in the great northwest we rarely fish for bass anymore. That hardly matters though as my father gave me one of the greatest gifts ever that day. He passed on a love for fishing that is passionately pursued today, some 26 years later. Thanks dad.