I can remember my very first fishing trip. I must have been only four years old then. The memory that stands out the most in my mind is when we took a trip up a mountain and on top was a lake. In the backdrop a picture perfect site of the mountains reflecting off the glassy lake waters, the blue sky with a few clouds and the sun rising with a golden orange hue, the smell of the water, the early morning dew but most of all I remember being with my dad.
It was our unique time together. Now when I was a kid, the most popular fishing rod for kids was the Snoopy Fishing Pole. I cannot say that it was the act of fishing that first got me interested but more the Snoopy Fishing Pole. Yes, that cheap plastic reel and rod with red and white bobber attached the line with a dinky weight, hook and live worms for fishing bait.
Now we were not rich growing up so my dad used to call our boat, which was actually a yellow rubber raft, “the poor mans yacht”. He would get all dressed up in his fishing gear which consisted of his lucky fishing hat, his fishing tackle box, a six pack and his fishing face.
One day, on our first trip out together he and my brother stopped into a bait store on the way up and got some worms. Back then I didn’t really know a real worm from a fake one, so they got a jar of gummy worms. When they showed them to me I was excited but then they decided to eat them and I screamed of horror. Of course after I stopped crying they told me it was candy.
Anyways, there we were on the lake, the sun rising, the cool brisk Washington breeze, my pole, my dad, my brother and I in the poor mans yacht. My dad taught me how to cast my line; which I was never really good at for years and years to come, and then we sat and we waited….and waited…and waited.
Then it happened. My dad told me, when you see the bobber go under the water, yank up on your pole and start reeling. So I did. I was so excited. I think it was the first time I can remember my adrenaline kick in and become overwhelmed and flustered with excitement.
There I was catching my very first fish. I think even my dad was more excited then I was at the time. He stood by me, guided me, helping me reel in my very first fish. When I finally got it in my dad told me I couldn’t keep it.
My very first fish ended up being a rainbow trout that I couldn’t keep it because it was too small so my dad made me throw it back. Then I cast my line for the second time all by myself and waited….and waited…and waited until I hooked my second fish. Turns out it was the same trout I had previously caught. Then we did this a few more times, having caught the same damn trout every time. As we took in our gear that day, all I could think about was going again.
From then on, my dad and I were like best fishing friends. After I had mastered the art of tying my hooks, baiting my line, reeling them in I learned what a vendetta was. I was no longer a kid just fishing for what whatever I could catch but fishing became a sport and my object of desire was the infamous giant bass at Twin Lakes.
