Tag Fishing

Fishing For Memories

Michael Leave a comment

Trout season begins this week. Saturday specifically. In my state. I’ve never fished for trout. I’ve fished for walleye, I’ve fished for bass, I’ve fished for compliments. But I’ve never fished for trout. And that’s unusual for around here because there is a lot of trout around here. Of course, to catch trout around here you have to fish around here and I’ve never done that either.

Around here is huge on fishing. The county I live in issues more fishing licenses than anywhere else in the state, odd for an urban area but the numbers don’t lie. Even though the county sports only 10 percent of the state’s population it has ranked number 1 in fish licenses since 1919. Probably before that but that’s as far back as I could find records. For most of those years there were more fishing licenses issued in this one county than in the rest of the state combined.

I’m not a real fisherman – or fisherperson as the TV reporter reminded the viewing public of the start of trout season put it. I fish, or fished, once or twice a year and at what could at best be called sporadically over 40 years or so.

My first fishing memory was of my father taking me up into the mountains for an overnight trip with two friends of his and their sons. I didn’t catch anything. I’m not sure that anybody caught anything. I remember cooking something outside for dinner but it was probably hamburgers. After dark we piled into someone’s station wagon and went deer spotting and that night slept in someone else’s hunting cabin. That was the first fishing memory I have. It is also the first memory I have of doing something special with my father.

My second fishing memory came 20 years later and 20 states away. Floating in the middle of some lake in the middle of Texas were me and an Army friend in a rented bass boat. It had all that was required for fishing for bass. We had the trolling motor attached to the bow, the big Merc mounted on the stern, the electronic fish finder, the funny chairs that looked like bar stools. We got just far enough out to finish our to-go coffees and were when his pager went off. Return to base. His unit was being mobilized. In less time to write about it we were back at the dock, secured the boat, gotten to the car, and were two-thirds of the 15 minute drive to base. That’s when my pager went off.  Later that day we found ourselves as parts of one of the largest training exercises our base had mounted in years. We ate in the field that night but it wasn’t fish.

Another 20 years and in the middle of another lake, this one called Erie, I was one of a group of five pulling in our 30th, and last, walleye. After years of doing so, my friend had the planning down pat for this trip. We left the day before for the drive north, now mostly highway making it a relatively quick trip. Quick enough that we got there hours before anyone else. We picked up our licenses, checked into the hotel, and asked for wake up calls for 4 the next morning. That gave us twelve hours to meet the rest of the gang, have a few beers, have dinner, retell our lies from previous years’ trips, make our ways back to the hotel, and turn in for the night. What was much more than but felt much less than a couple of hours later we were back in the lobby with our coffees and headed for the dock. Our hired captain and his boat were waiting in the dark and we clambered in for the ride to where the fish waited in the dark. The lines weren’t all in yet when the first walleye struck. As he was being brought in another line was hit. The first fish was landed, pictured, and chucked into the well when number three hooked on. And so it went. Nobody remembered a year when the fish came so willingly to us. We had reached our limit and turned back to the docks before some other boats had begun their day. The picture of us with our racks straining under the morning take was on the captain’s charter company’s website the following day. A copy of it is still on one of my walls. A week later we reassembled in my friend’s back yard to fry fish and tell lies. That was the last fishing memory I’ve had. Three weeks later I was in the hospital where a surgeon took longer than we did to fish for his limit.

Trout season starts this Saturday. I’ve never fished for trout.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

 

Family Time

Michael Leave a comment

For the first time in a long time She and He were not out in public as the We’s.  We were out in public, just not together.  It’s an unusual feeling, but then, we’re not your usual couple.  Not only were She and He not doing our things together, even the Children of We were off doing their own things, sometimes in completely different states.   Let’s take roll.

He of We is mostly responsible for the disparate activities in WeLand this weekend.  He set out for the waters of Lake Erie with Friend of He and three others on their annual fishing trip which precedes the annual Fish Fry and the annual how high can you get your outdoor flame contest.  Actually, that is not a sanctioned competition and only happened one year.  The fishing trip happens every year and there are no she’s connected to any of the he’s there there.  So that started out the weekend early Friday with He of We and Friend of He blazing the trail for the others to follow, getting licenses, checking into the hotel, and timing the route from hotel to dock so we know what time to leave in the morning to be there at 5am, our assigned departure time.  The trip was wildly successful with the fisherpeople maxing out in record time.  So fast were the limits caught that when the group returned to the dock there was actually a wait for the cutters and cleaners to come in and turn the haul into groceries. But even with an early return, getting up at something after three in the morning made for needing much sleep the rest of Saturday and Sunday and therefore few she’s saw anything of any of their he’s who were part of that group.

So there you have the impetus for the We-free weekend.  But there were still others among us who managed to spend their weekend times without the rest.  For example, Daughter of He spent her Saturday in running gear running past those who would be lobbing powder-based paint at her and the others taking part in another annual event, the Color Run.  The Color Run is too hard to explain here but it involves people who run a fairly normal 5K fun run circuit except they are clean at the start and look something like bad graffiti at the finish.  Daughter of She was doing this about 150 miles from home so that shot her day with any other family members.

Sons of She weren’t there to put the family in family time either, both taking part in one of their many shared interests, golf.  For two brothers who act like brothers as much as two brothers can act like stereotypical siblings, they have remarkably similar interests.  They both golf, they both enjoy the presence of a pool in each of their respective backyards.  They are both fond of eating out but with different partialities.  She of We often has told the story of them as mere toddlers in restaurants, the older would order for both of them with “I’ll have the steak and my brother will have the shrimp.”  They both like vintage toys and as we found out for the first time last week, they both like being at the racetrack.  But this weekend they were both golfing and even if they both managed to keep all four wheels of the carts on the cart paths and no errant drives found their ways through either’s sun roof (both potential topics for this very post), it would still be a full day affair because that’s how they do it.  Whether separately or together.

So now you see why She of We was We-less through the weekend.  Before it was over, the Children of We did manage to find their respective ways to the respective parents and made less than token appearances, because that’s what our kids do.  And She and He of We managed to find some hours together either by phone or by text to keep each other up to date with their We-free Weekend because that’s what we do.

Even if none of us were able to get any of ourselves together for just a weekend it would be fine because we happen to know that for this small group of people, all adults, all with their own lives, we still keep it together.  For us, any time is family time, and all the time is quality time.

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?