After reading Zeds post about his dad fishing on another thread I got to thinking about my own dad and fishing.
My dad who was never a true fisherman himself introduced me to fishing when I was about 5. He used to take me to a pond near my house in Pennsylvania to fish for Sunnys armed with a little Zebco and a bobber. My dad taught me how to set the hook when I got a nibble but I used to jerk the rod too hard and sometimes ripped the lips right off of the fish.
I still smile when I think of the day I saw him fall in the smelly pond water. I laughed, he didn't.
At 8 years old, I remember like it was yesterday the feeling of how proud my dad was of me as he watched me reel in my first and definitely legal Flounder while fishing from a dock on a bay in New Jersey.
When I was older and living in Michigan I took my dad ice fishing for his first time. We took my snowmobiles out to my favorite spot on the lake. My dad said that he would cut the holes in the ice while I set everything else up. I gave him my chainsaw and he cut a good sized hole. He then tried to push the ice cork down under the ice with the blade of the saw. I had my back turned to him when I clearly heard the sound of my running chainsaw disappear through the hole after he dropped it. We unsuccessfully tried to fish the same hole for the rest of the day.
He laughed, I didn't.
I have great and funny memories of of fishing with my dad.
I would love to introduce him to fishing from a kayak in La Jolla but my pop is now 83 years old and lives across the country so it will never happen.
Our fishing days are sadly over.
Nothing but great fishing memories!
