Recalling life-changing afternoon

I was bitten by the fishing bug at a very young age. And although 54 years have since lapsed, I can still recall that Saturday afternoon well.

My dad and I struck out to a family friend’s pond shortly after he arrived home from work. Parking alongside the road, we grabbed our gear and began a long walk over a steep hill to a spot secluded on the backside of their field.

Willows took root along most of the shoreline, leaving very few openings from where one could cast without getting tangled in the thick canopy. However, there was one spot, in particular, where even a youngster with hardly any casting skill could get a hook into the water.

We had fished at this location several times prior to this memorable day. And I had managed to land my fair share of bream during previous outings. But this time things were different. In lieu of threading a nightcrawler on a hook, tossing the presentation into the water and waiting, it was time to step it up. That’s right, I had finally earned the opportunity to try my hand at fishing with an artificial lure.

I was excited, to say the least. In my young mind, it was a step into manhood. I had been watching my dad use artificial lures since he first started taking me fishing. And I too would be fishing for largemouth bass.

He began explaining technique while tying the floating minnow on the line’s end. And although trying to listen to his advice, I could hardly wait until he cut me loose. There was a brand new red-fin dangling from my rod. And I was already consumed with tying into my first bass before it ever hit the water.

I made several casts into the middle of the pond. And with confidence I eventually began tossing the lure in the direction of a partially submerged log near the shoreline.

The first few casts were hardly in the vicinity of the natural cover. But with each attempt came better accuracy. And I eventually placed the lure within close proximity of my target.

I started winding immediately after the lure hit the water. And the surface boiled within a few cranks of the reel.

Dad had been standing silently beside me since my first cast. But upon seeing the bass hit the lure, he suddenly shouted, “Set the hook!” I gave the rod a huge jerk. I had tied into my first largemouth bass, and the fight was on.

To say I was excited would prove an understatement. I was beside myself. In fact, I lost all composure. Everything I had learned during previous fishing trips went out the window. I didn’t even take time to wind. Instead, it seemed far more logical to turn around and run up the hillside until the fish was on the shoreline.

I can still hear my dad laughing and saying, “Wind, Wind!” I wouldn’t have it though. So I continued up the hill until the fish was far from the water’s edge and flopping on the bank.

Fortunately, she was not what an experienced angler would refer to as a trophy. In fact, she would not have likely tipped the scales at more than one pound. But I still consider that little bass as the most important fish that I have ever managed to coax into biting.

Looking back, I’m pretty sure that my father was equally as excited, if not more so. I can say with confidence that God, sharing the gospel and family were the only things that dad loved more than fishing. And I suspect he knew that he had just witnessed the beginning of passion that he and his son would share until his dying days.

And a shared passion it was. We spent countless hours sharing our love for the sport. And although I eventually had to say goodbye to my best friend and mentor, hardly a fishing trip goes by that I don’t think of dad. And it all started with a father’s willingness to spend an afternoon fishing with his son.