Dad's Fishing Pole

One of many traits I inherited from my dad was the love of fishing. Having a lake out my back door is a real boon; I love the idea of fishing for my supper. 

When I was little and we camped a lot on our vacations, we tended to look for camp spots that had fishing areas. Dad and I would fish while Mom cooked supper. I was still in the cane pole stage of fishing, and I loved to watch the big bobber he would attach to my line. He taught me how to be patient and not wiggle around while waiting for a bite. He taught me how to bait my own hook. He taught me how to take my own fish off the hook (except for catfish--they were to "finny"). He would always enjoy telling people we fished with at the campsites that I sang to the fish...I serenaded quite a few throughout the country.

The other day while I was at Mom's house and we were cleaning up the garage, she gave me one of Dad's fishing poles. It was welcomed, not only because it was his, but my current spinner's drag was really getting draggy and one of the handles on the crank was broken. It still worked...barely. One cast with the "new" spinner and I knew it would be great to use.

One afternoon, a couple of days later, I had a little time, so I decided to walk to the lake and fish for my supper. I wanted to try out the new pole and see how it worked. I grabbed my trusty fishing worm can, dug a few worms from the edge of the woods, and walked down to get the pole. I noticed it didn't have a bobber, so I added a small one. I cast out and immediately realized I had too much sinker for the bobber. When I brought it in, I noticed that it was a sinker that Dad had made. When I removed it, I put it in my pocket. Didn't want it to get lost in the tackle box. It brought back memories of watching him pour lead for sinkers of all sizes. I then noticed that the hook was rusty and would need changing. It gave me pause to remove it since he tied it on there. Those were his knots. I could see in my mind's eye him tying that hook on with the finesse of years of experience. I felt like I was removing all his presence as I kept changing out the parts of the fishing line...it wasn't a good feeling.  However, as I cast out that silky smooth line, I felt him with me. And, about 10 seconds later when that first fish struck the hook and bobber disappeared, I knew he was with me for sure.

Thanks for the fishing pole, Dad...and thanks for teaching me to fish. I know you're with me with each cast.