I hope all the dads out there had a happy and safe Father’s Day, preferably fishing with their kids!
There were some thunderstorms (or “boom boom clouds” as my son calls them) brewing, but he and I managed to sneak out to a couple local ponds for some panfish action. We didn’t catch anything of any size, but it’s not like he cares. To a kid, a fish is a fish is a fish and all you need to do to keep your children happy on their fishing trip is put them in front of quantity. Mission accomplished today!
While I was out there watching him cast and marveling at just how good he’s gotten over the past few weeks, I had to think back to my own childhood fishing with my dad on Lake Champlain.
He and his friend purchased a house up there back in the mid-eighties when I was very young. They got a good price, but only because it was a run-down camp that need a ton of work. My old man and his buddy had both worked the trades in their youth and so they did most of this job themselves.
Renovating the lake house took my dad away from home most weekends and I remember missing him terribly. In fact, one of my earliest memories is watching him pack up a suitcase for another long weekend away, and doing my best to squirm into it and “hide” so that he would accidentally take me with him. I remember begging him to let me come along, but an active construction site is no place for a small angler and he always told me no.
Then, one day, he didn’t. I was six-years-old at the time and ecstatic – my dad was going to take me on a fishing trip to Lake Champlain with him, all by myself! He bought me what seemed like an enormous tackle box and let me rifle through all of this to put together whatever lures I wanted, and he rigged up an Ugly Stik with a snap swivel on it, just for me!
I remember driving up the four hours to Champlain listening to Jimmy Buffet and Marty Robbins songs in-between a Yankees game. We stopped for some burgers and ice cream at an old greasy spoon long-since closed before continuing on to the north country.
When we got there, he charged up the boat batteries while I poured over some older fishing books and VHS tapes and did my best to contain my excitement. My dad’s friend was also there fishing from his Ranger, and he told us all about some far away bay that was just loaded with bass on the beds and big northern pike.
The next morning, we took off for our fishing trip in dad’s boat (which at the time was nice and new and not named “Sinky”) and headed for that bay. I remember the ride seemed to take forever – Lake Champlain is massive and even the southern end just opened up like the ocean to my smile eyes.
I still remember how calm the bay looked that morning. There was mist on the water and just the gentlest of breezes. There seemed to be reeds everywhere with deep, enticing pockets of water almost forming alleyways between them. Dad taught me how to cast a Timberking and keep the rod tip high enough for it to stay on top of the water and I delighted as fish after fish smashed and smacked at it. A pickerel here, a bass there, they all seemed like giants to a six-year-old.
We then threw spinnerbaits in-between the reeds. Dad told me to try my best to cast into the different pockets and start reeling as soon as they touched the water. Each time I cast well he complimented and encouraged me and made it seem like some crazy, unthinkable happenstance if no fish struck after such a perfect cast.
The bites were fast and furious – it was the kind of constant action that all father’s dream of for their kid’s first fishing trip. Each cast I made was a little more precise and went a little further. I was so proud of myself as I didn’t need my dad to hand me his rod all the time (even though he still did religiously). Eventually, I cast out a chartreuse spinnerbait with big, red painted eyes towards an alley when – THUD! – some monster from the depths struck and gave me the fight of my short life! Dad kept yelling, “Keep the rod tip high! Keep the rod tip high!” as I struggled with this beast! At one point it jumped and I saw its long, silvery form as it smashed back into the water with a giant splash. After what was probably less than a minute real time, but ages to a six-year-old, dad netted my very first northern pike. At 6lbs, it wasn’t any giant by any means, but anyone who has fought one can imagine what it felt like to a six-year-old fishing a flimsy ugly stick.
Yeah, I was hooked for life.
That first fishing trip with Dad sealed the deal. Dad and I have gone out together hundreds of times since then all across the country. We’ve seen the sun rise across Lake Champlain as the loons call, and Alligators scatter as our boat approached them in some Florida Canal. He and I have stood back astonished as Orca broke the surface near our lines in Alaska, and marveled as pike rocketed from the depths to strike a spinnerbait in Bantam Lake, Connecticut. We’ve caught thousands upon thousands of fish together, some truly massive. But none of those fish and none of those trips could ever quite match our first one together.
Yep, that was the trip that started it all and ignited my passion. The fishing was great, but the most memorable part of it all was it was the first time dad took me out all by ourselves. It was the first time he trusted me to cast all on my own and it was the first time that he took me out looking for bigger game fish. It was my first truly special moment with my old man, and the first time I realized why this sport is so special.
I hope you all had an awesome day of fishing with your daughters and sons. If you would like to learn how to make your trips more memorable, consider purchasing my book, Fishing with Kids: A Parent’s Guide
It’s a great day for fishing,
John Paxton
