After a long winter and the mental anguish of cabin fever, the sun came out and the temperature climbed above 40 degrees. "Momma" suggested I take our six year old son fishing. By the time she uttered the second syllable, I had Jack over my shoulder as we ran out the door. A quick and simple trip, fishing from shore, at one of my favorite early spring spots.
During the drive, we discussed the game plan. I spoke of being careful around the extremely cold water and sharp hooks. Jack was oblivious to the sound of my voice, staring out the window, mumbling something about different types of fish . . . and what they look like.
In our haste, I accidentally grabbed the "wrong" rod according to Jack. I had snagged his sister's rod, which is identical to Jack's. I guaranteed him there was no difference but Jack did not agree and nobody was going to convince him otherwise. Already off to a rough start.
As it turns out, Jack was right, which occurs more than I'd like to admit. He had trouble holding the push button in and the line wouldn't hold. Every time he went to cast, the lure dropped to the ground. This of course was all his sister's fault and mine. No problem, during the cast I controlled the button and then Jack reeled it in.
This worked for a while until it was time for Jack to take a break. It's amazing how many things there are to do next to the water . . . like . . . digging through the soft plastics, knocking over your father's water, seeing how far you can wade before filling your rain boots, continuously reaching into the pretzel bag with muddy fingers, poking at a dead perch with a stick and dropping rocks into the water to hear that cool "plop" noise. Jack was able to do all this, while completely ignoring his father. An incredible skill!
Eventually, we got back at it but I could tell our day at the water was almost over. We made a final cast and I turned to start packing up. Thats when a heard a grunt. The type of grunt that comes from lifting something entirely too heavy. A man's grunt. Except is wasn't coming from me.
Jack was doubled over, desperately trying to crank the hand of his tiny push button reel. He was slowly losing groung as his feet shuffled toward the fish. By the time I said, "you've got one!" there was a whimpering cry for help. Smiling, I reassured Jack he was doing fine and gave him the usual coaching pointers. Then the fish made a run for the bank and the silhouette broke through the slightly muddy water. It was big. My first thought was that he hooked a nice rainbow, which are commonly caught in the area during this time. But then she gave us a side profile and I lipped her as she glided to the bank.
Jack's face lit up, his eyes popped and his smile made him look like the Joker. Very similar too when you inform him that we're going out for ice cream. Normally Jack refuses to hold any kind of fish, but since this was his personal best and the largest fish he had ever seen in person . . . he agreed. Even at age six, I think he understood the magnitude of the situation.
We took a few pictures, shared them using the phone and fished some more. The ol' man even got into a good one too. As we drove home the congratulatory comments poured in, as we reminisced about the day. I was shocked by the overwhelming sense of pride. The wee man stuck his first pig.
During the drive, we discussed the game plan. I spoke of being careful around the extremely cold water and sharp hooks. Jack was oblivious to the sound of my voice, staring out the window, mumbling something about different types of fish . . . and what they look like.
In our haste, I accidentally grabbed the "wrong" rod according to Jack. I had snagged his sister's rod, which is identical to Jack's. I guaranteed him there was no difference but Jack did not agree and nobody was going to convince him otherwise. Already off to a rough start.
As it turns out, Jack was right, which occurs more than I'd like to admit. He had trouble holding the push button in and the line wouldn't hold. Every time he went to cast, the lure dropped to the ground. This of course was all his sister's fault and mine. No problem, during the cast I controlled the button and then Jack reeled it in.
This worked for a while until it was time for Jack to take a break. It's amazing how many things there are to do next to the water . . . like . . . digging through the soft plastics, knocking over your father's water, seeing how far you can wade before filling your rain boots, continuously reaching into the pretzel bag with muddy fingers, poking at a dead perch with a stick and dropping rocks into the water to hear that cool "plop" noise. Jack was able to do all this, while completely ignoring his father. An incredible skill!
Eventually, we got back at it but I could tell our day at the water was almost over. We made a final cast and I turned to start packing up. Thats when a heard a grunt. The type of grunt that comes from lifting something entirely too heavy. A man's grunt. Except is wasn't coming from me.
Jack was doubled over, desperately trying to crank the hand of his tiny push button reel. He was slowly losing groung as his feet shuffled toward the fish. By the time I said, "you've got one!" there was a whimpering cry for help. Smiling, I reassured Jack he was doing fine and gave him the usual coaching pointers. Then the fish made a run for the bank and the silhouette broke through the slightly muddy water. It was big. My first thought was that he hooked a nice rainbow, which are commonly caught in the area during this time. But then she gave us a side profile and I lipped her as she glided to the bank.
Jack's face lit up, his eyes popped and his smile made him look like the Joker. Very similar too when you inform him that we're going out for ice cream. Normally Jack refuses to hold any kind of fish, but since this was his personal best and the largest fish he had ever seen in person . . . he agreed. Even at age six, I think he understood the magnitude of the situation.
We took a few pictures, shared them using the phone and fished some more. The ol' man even got into a good one too. As we drove home the congratulatory comments poured in, as we reminisced about the day. I was shocked by the overwhelming sense of pride. The wee man stuck his first pig.
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