Fishin' Trippin'

Every summer since I was my boys’ age, my family has gone on a fishing trip. It’s always been the same location, though the people in attendance shift each year. Some years, people have something they can’t get out of and they miss out. Some years we have a full house while a few times there have been only two participants. I can probably count on one hand the times I didn’t make it and plan on not missing a week ever again if I can help it.

In the same way my sons try to figure out how many more days until their birthday or Christmas, I find myself watching the calendar throughout the year to see how close July is. When the weather gets warmer, my focus on that week becomes more intense. I have to do something every now and then just to curb my anticipation.

I find myself stopping out in the garage while taking out the garbage just to check on the fishing tackle. Shopping trips will involve me sneaking into the sport section, if there is one in the particular store, and checking out rods and reels. I’ve bought several fishing t-shirts that I wear. I even insisted on wearing the camouflage cargo pants that I bought specifically for this trip for three straight days last week. The longer I can wear a pair of pants without washing it, the more it resembles my attire while on this trip.

I ought to point out here that I am not very good at fishing. My father and eldest brother are great. They’ve done their homework. They know the lake. They have the equipment and know how to use it. If they don’t bag at least one very large fish on this trip each, they are disappointed. They take several other fishing trips each summer and expect the same results at each destination.

I’ll get a decent catch or two, but nothing trophy worthy. If I catch an average sized large mouth bass, I may as well stop fishing for the rest of the week. I spend most of my time on the boat doing things other than fishing anyway. Unhooking pan fish from wife my sons’ hooks takes up most of the time. When I’m not doing that, I’m handing out snacks from the cooler or enjoying a beer.

Not having the time to focus on serious fishing is nothing I regret. I like watching my sons enjoy themselves. Taking them up there and teaching them the little I know about the hobby has them doing things that I didn’t do until I was in my twenties. They will hold their catch by the lip and release it into the water themselves. They’ll grab a minnow carefully from the bucket and hand it to me to put on their hook. They even handle leeches with their bare hands. Yes, the black squirmy things that suck blood, those leeches. The only reason I handle them now is because I didn’t think it looked right to use a set of needle nose pliers to take a leech from the hand of a five-year-old.

Fishing has always been more about forcing yourself to slow down than anything else to me. When out on a lake, waiting for a bite, patience is a must. A beer and cigar are just as useful equipment in my mind as the rod, reel and bait.

This is no more evident anywhere else than in my sons’ behavior from the beginning of the week to the end. My boys are pretty well behaved in general, but when they first arrive, like any kids, they want to do everything. They want to run around, play this, play that, and be constantly entertained. After only a day or two, I’ll see them just sitting on the porch, staring out at the lake, or taking a quiet walk along the lakefront. On the first day, they want to catch fish after fish. By the end, they’ll sit on the boat and hang out with a line in the water. They start the week as Ricochet Rabbit and end it as Deputy Dawg.

So, while it seems a bit strange to get all worked up about going somewhere to relax, I’ve begun my count down. Seventy more days.