Had a little reverse deja vu this morning. I was putting some rods away in my garage and somthing got me thinking about how I got the fishing bug. Here’s what I remember:
I grew up in a divorced house(working Mom) and my grandparents lives about a mile away on the Shrewsbury River. For the summers I would ride my bike to their house and spend my days there while my mother worked. I was 6 or 7 years old when this began and can’t imagine my kids doing the same in this day and age. I had a 12’ john boat with no motor and would ply the waters around the neighboring docks catching crabs and running a seine if I had a friend with me that day. On a good day my grandfather Raymond(actually step grandfather) would be home and take me out in the 14’ aluminum with a 9.9 Merc on it. I can remember how fast I thought we were going when he would throttle up, my smile must have been from ear to ear. He knew that river like the back of his hand, I swear we caught fish when noone else could. My Granmother would pack us lunch, peanut butter and butter sandwiches on rye bread and iced tea in mason jars. Flounder and weakfish were usually our targets, but I was just as happy catching a “Sally Growler”(anyone else use that term?) or a big eel.
Raymond was a man’s man. More than once I got to stay the night and watch the “boys” play poker. My Grandmother would put me to bed and then Raymond would come wake me up when she had fallen asleep to sit with them. He was a WWII vet and noone ever got the real stories of what he had done or where he had been, you didn’t need to, you knew he was a bad azz just by meeting him. He ate hot Chinese mustard with a spoon and washed it down with JD straight from the bottle while smoking stogies. No wonder he died at 65, but his memories live on.
Come to think of it, “fishing” isn’t about the fish, it never has been. It’s about the time, the people, the places and the memories.
My dad and I started pond fishing just all of a sudden. We started spinfishing first, then bought fly rods. Went to islamorada a year later and got the salt bug. First charter in charleston a month later.
I credit Capts Bramblett Bradham and Rich Moore with most of my early tutelage.
My mother in law. I swear that she is the devils spawn. Came down years ago for a visit. You know the rest of the story. My weekend was F*&^ed, so I went fishing.
My family camped alot when I was growing up. And alot of fishing just came with the territory. In the winter months we would go up to the Santee State Park for 2 weeks at a time and launch the boat to fish for catfish non-stop. My mom would hike the park taking pics while the guys caught dinner. In the summer (my fav) we would head out to the Edisto State Park and fish the beach and surrounding areas. Saltwater fishing was always my favorite. We camped all over the place in dad’s 34’ coachman trailer towing the boat behind my brothers truck. I always liked Edisto and Santee the most because the ride home wasn’t so long and the fishing was pretty good. Dad sold the camper years ago but i still go with my tent from time to time and I make sure I have lines in the water someplace at least twice a week. Sometimes in the boat, sometimes on a pier, and sometimes in a creek on the side of the road. Anyplace that looks promising gets my attention, I always keep my travel tackle box and rod in my truck at all times. A fishing addict in a never ending search for my next “fix”. Thanks Dad…
Dad took me to a trout farm when I was six. He had bought me one of those green Zebco combos and made me practice casting all week long. For a six year old I got pretty good too. I also had to read Bill Dance’s fishing with plastic worms, which is like a Steinbeck novel to a kid. What did we fish with when we finally got there? Corn. First fish was a fat farm raised rainbow trout. We fished a lot of farm ponds after that and my friends and I fished the creek behind the neighborhood after that. That little Zebco finally met its end from a 10lb striper on Lake Seccession just boringly jigging a plastic worm up and down while the grown ups cast lures for largemouths. Sometimes you wish you had never had to grow up.
Mark
Mako 262 Twin Yammaha F200s
Yeah, but do you consider a dog to be a filthy animal? I wouldn’t go so far as to call a dog filthy but they’re definitely dirty. But, a dog’s got personality. Personality goes a long way.
“Life’s tough…It’s even tougher if you’re stupid” John Wayne
Dad had me out fresh water fishing with him since I was 4. (now 41). He’s a patient man, lol. had my step kids out since they where 4 & 5 too. I usually just ended up keeping baits on hooks and undoing tangles… some very happy memories. I’ve taught my Dad how to cast a fly rod, but have yet to go with him… since he’s still in PA.
I still remember one of the first fish I caught… PA brook trout, was amazed by the colors, still am to this day.
Got the urge to try surf fishing in NJ about 10 years ago, when I had access to a free place to crash in Ocean City, NJ. I was there every weekend from memorial day through the week before thanksgiving. Blues flounder, weakie, and striper, Jersey Slam… Memories
I’ve gotten some friends into surf fishing recently… Just passing on the addiction.
Yankee sand flea on a Southern beach.
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My maternal Grandfather got me started on fishing when I was 7–that was in 1966. My Dad’s best friend started me on Saltwater offshore back in 1971, when he used to take us offshore out of Georgetown. Still fish out of Georgetown…I couldn’t imagine keeping my boat any other place.
“Never argue with an idiot…he will drag you down to his level and beat you with experience.”
great thread!
I will add this, take as many kids/newbs fishing often. Regardless of the headaches.
My lil brother whom we started taking when he was two. I love catching him fish! Each of his first big three:
Well I started fishing with my grandparents at the age of 3,we always went on weekends wether it be suuny or rainy hot or cold.I have always been greatful for them taking the time to take me.
King Neptune got me started untill my Mom and Dad were fishing while out sailing one day and hooked me as I was investigating this white feathery thing swimming thru the water. I fought like a frieght train on steroids, thrashing my head back and forth out of the water trying to dislodge the hook to no avail, next I took to the air leaping across the water while hearing thier line singing behind me, finally in a last ditch attempt to rid myself of this foul hook in my mouth I sounded, heading for the dark cold depths of the ocean.
Finally out of steam I could feel myself being slowly but surely pulled back up towards the surface once again. As the sunlight started to filter thru and sparkle the blue water I could see hands reaching down into the water and felt them grasping me and quickly pulling me into the boat before collapsing completely. I woke with a start as a bucket of sea water was thrown on me and heard my Dad saying “up to the yardarms with ya and be smart about it!” As I made my way up to the yardarms to guide the boat thru the coral heads I heard my Dad say to my Mom with a smirk on his face, “Well, looks like ol King Neptune and his fair mermaid have given us another to ply the seven seas”
Eastern shore of Va. I don’t even know how old I was. Under 5 I guess. I caught a fish and just remember what a rush to feel something pulling back hard. I think it was a croaker. Later that night I ate it and remember that it was the best tasting thing I ever ate.
IOP…cant remember when i wasnt fishing for something… my dad is not a “fisherman” per say but i will give him credit for seeing the stoke in me and allowing me to persue my passion… thanks pops!
I remember how cool it felt to finally be able to rig up your own rod. Some of the ugliest attempts at a rig I’m sure, but as long as it caught fish it didn’t matter.
