There I was, sitting with a rod in my hands, staring at a floating original Rapala my dad cast for me between a couple lily pads. He had commanded, ‘’Don’t move it, just leave it there!’’. The tone was rather stern. As one could imagine, being a 4 or 5 year old child, I was quite displeased with this, so I was sulking . Meanwhile it actually was one of the greatest lessons in fishing, and life, my father ever taught me. Patience.
It wasn’t long after my father gave me that command, I sat watching this totally motionless bait that my anger and frustration brimmed. I thought,‘’There is no possible way I catch anything like this. Look at dad. Cast, retrieve, catch fish. ’’. Following still the words of my father, I let it be. As I watched the lure very intently, still stewing. Stewing turned to exuberance when a boil and flash left the waters surface vacant of my Rapala.. Trying to mirror the actions of my father, I reeled down and set the hook. A tight line indicated the the razor sharp trebles were solidly driven home. The large mouth bass below began displaying the regret of it’s ill made decision. A few jumps and head shakes, confirmed his rue. The fight, though memorable, was not the true highlight. What was, I can only reflect back on now, the absolute elation. It was, and still is the most gratifying of sensations I have ever felt. It’s the exact same way I feel to this day when I haul one over the gunnel.
I can understand now my fathers frustration. I constantly needed him to tie my next magical lure on, after using the last only 5 cast . Rifling through his tackle box, leaving a wake of constant disaster. When I wasn’t doing that I was playing with the fish in the live well, or falling in it. I was a general nuisance to say the least. But there I was, on the boat, with my dad.
My dad brought me out with him every time he went. I mean, every time. The only exception would have been, once in a blue moon, when he was going on a “boys only trip”. Uncommon as they were, when they did, I was not happy. I would bawl, plead and beg to go. Then go pout for the rest of the day, knowing my dad was in the place I wanted to be the most. Looking back on it now, he wanted to take me, but the boys would not have had the patience my father had for me, so home I stayed.
I got a chance to ask my dad why he put himself through so much hell to bring me with him all the time. The answer was simple. His response, “I just saw how much you loved it. I had to take you. It really broke my heart when I couldn’t because I saw how upset you were”. It was powerful.
Here is a man who loves to fish. Knowing full well he was going to suffer a great deal more bringing this, unruly blonde child on the boat with him, he did it anyway. The joy he saw that it brought to his son. Itself, outweighing anything small me could have done to light the already short fuse to the bomb my young father could be. He could have just left me at home and forgone all the misery.He didn’t. Instead, he picked up the burden and carried it in stride, knowing he was doing something that had enough meaning to transcend the fire that could light the fuse. A one thousand percent selfless act, for his son . That’s what I mean by powerful!
It’s funny how lessons we are being taught and the importance of them only become realized later on in life, like that patience thing. My father has always been a guiding light in that aspect. It’s only looking back on it now I realize, how patient my father was with me . If he wasn’t, he would have never been able to pass on the gift of fishing to the little blonde tornado I was. It was that ultimate gift that to this day is what drives me through life and for that I can only thank him.
I rarely get to see my dad nowadays. When we do get together though, we are typically going fishing. It’s rewarding in so many ways to now wear the hat of the captain in the presence of my dad. Student becoming the teacher? In a way, it drives me harder towards the goal of figuring out the pattern, to catch the fish. As to prove in some way, I have learned from the groundwork he laid for me. It would be apparent, though I have learned, I am not quite to the level of teaching anything related to patience to my dad, for his tolerance will always be higher than mine.
For two days, my father and I got to go fishing, mid June. We killed them. Red fish and big sea trout, one after the next. From the time we got out, to the time we went in, both days we put on a clinic. On these days, I was also showing my dad a couple spots he could hit the upcoming week he would have the boat to himself.
The days we fished, the wind was coming out of the North Northeast, setting the two spots we fished up to be productive, from my experience.
During that next week, he did good, Tammy (his wife) as well, catching a few nice reds and trout in one of the spots I had showed him.
By that Friday, I had gotten a report from dad that the wind switched directions, now out of the South and all bites came to a halt.
Upon my return that weekend, my father was very reluctant to forego the one particular spot he caught fish during his week fishing. Even after I explained, the wind direction change might have pulled the fish to a new location. He was insistent. I figured it best to satisfy him by working the area for an hour, then go find more productive grounds. Every time I would suggest a move, dad would come back with “eeehhhh, I think they’re over there”, pointing only fifty or so yards from where we were already. So, fifty or so yards off we went.
So there I was, on the boat, with my dad, again, more than twenty years after my first fish. I might have been slightly peeved that my dad didn’t want to change spots but I was enjoying the time with him, none the less. Focusing more on the good time we were having together made me feel better about our efforts only turning up one red. Also, our fishing day shortly coming to a close . Wouldn’t you know, minutes before we decide to pack things in for the day, dad’s line begins to move off slowly. It was a monster sea trout! The battle, nothing to write about. The fish seeming to accept it’s fate. Kinda just came right to the boat to be netted. To this day, though, it was the largest trout my father has ever seen, 28’’. He was ecstatic and I was truly thrilled to be able to share the experience with him.
As to why that fish was where he was and ate at the time he ate? I am still unsure. What I am sure of after all these years is that the old man still isn’t done teaching his son the importance of patience.
-John