Fishing Tales - 1
The One That Got Away
I have to admit that one of the things I like doing, above all else -and this means not only in my spare time - is fishing. I started fishing as a child, together with my brother and under the guidance of my father.
I know that in the beginning it was more a question of spending time with my father and my brother - with a doze of healthy rivalry as to who could command our father's attention. But then, little by little, we started (both of us kids) to get hooked (excuse the pun) on fishing. This meant that whenever we could convince our father to take us fishing we would. It also had the effect of giving him leverage on our behavior. But it was worth it.
Perhaps the most important part of these, our first fishing years, was the whole atmosphere that this created. There were the moments when we were completely one with nature; at other times I remember just watching my father as he cast his line up river, and the way his whole countenance reflected absolute confidence and calmness. Knowing that the flies we had made him were in his fishing tackle box that held our hand made flies - (my brother and I had been patiently taught to make our own trout flies until we were allowed to make our father's salmon ones). Can you imagine the delight I felt the first time my father caught a salmon with my fly?
These were great times, and when we go out again, as we gather our gear including our new fangled tackle bags, we slip back into these memories and add new ones for the coming generation.
It made me feel good - the way only a child can feel when everything that matters in his life is just right.
As we started using a fly, the whole casting experience was important. It was putting the fly down just where we wanted and watching as the river took it exactly where we had guessed it would. The thrill of a trout rising short, that made you cast again, almost immediately and with more than a hint of impatience - and then the strike and the battle. And on top of it all the pride of catching your trout and showing it, and showing it off, to my father.
There were usually cold days, sometimes wet, sometimes misty and the sound of the river as it traveled on its way to the sea - taking with it, or so we imagined, the returning sea trout and the salmon that began their wonderful sea going adventures before returning to exactly the same place where they were spawned.
In all it was such a perfect experience that when I look back on it there is a certain magical and make believe aspect to it all.
The marvelous thing is that I now have the obligation of passing this on to my own children.
Oh, by the way the moral of the story is ...Bonding.
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