For me, the primary fundamental of having fun fishing is fishing with friends and family. Yes, there is something to be said for fishing by yourself and simply enjoying what Mother Nature has to offer. But for me, I find that I remember who I fished with and what we did more than I remember the fish. I was pretty well along in years before I figured that out. But I did, and it helped me realize that for decades I have taken my dad on every fishing trip that I take. That may seem strange since Dad passed away in 2011. But he still comes on every trip.

Remembering Dad:

I was fishing with my brother, Doug, last fall. It was a miserable day. The wind made it hard to drift and cast. The sun was sleeping under a blanket of dark clouds, and it was none too warm. Apparently, the fish were sleeping, too. Doug said that we should troll our way back to the launch. As we set up for the troll, without thinking, I said, “You know, this is where Dad would have rigged up about 3 ounces of lead and a hook and a worm.” Immediately, Doug responded, “Absolutely.” That is when I realized that I cannot go fishing without taking Dad. And that is a good thing. About halfway back to the launch we got lucky and landed a nice musky. I guess Dad, Doug and I do okay fishing together.

Dad and Lake Erie Memories:

Dad was a WWII Navy veteran. He loved big water, and Lake Erie was his favorite place to fish. For several years, Doug and I took him to the lake on Father’s Day. That was our gift to him, a very special gift. Dad was seldom able to go fishing in his later years because he cared for our mother. She had a severe stroke and needed assistance. At first, the care she needed was minimal and Dad could leave her long enough to go on a day fishing trip. But as years passed and Mom aged, she required more care. So, Dad seldom ventured far from her. But on Father’s Day my wife would stay with Mom. She was about the only person that Dad trusted to take care of Mom. But on Father’s Day he would go for a day of smallmouth bass fishing on Lake Erie near Northeast. We always caught fish and luckily, the weather always favored us. Dad loved eating at the Freeport restaurant, and we had to stop there before heading home. I love this memory because it was something special, sharing a day with Dad and Doug.

We had a lot of success in the 1990’s trolling for walleyes on Lake Erie. We made a lot of memories on that lake. My two favorite memories of fishing with Dad on Erie have nothing to do with a fish. The first memory occurred on a June bass fishing trip. My best friend, constant angling buddy, and one of the grandest people you could ever know, Jim, was along. Jim always came along on our Erie trips. That was kind of odd, since Jim always got seasick on that lake. He never got seasick anywhere else.

We were fishing in Dad’s old Starcraft. It was one of those that had the back-to-back seating and a covered bow with a wraparound windshield. We were drifting through some productive water, bottom bouncing jigs. As usual, Jim was seasick and making regular contributions to the lake. His rod would start to bounce, and I would alert him. He would pick up the rod, and reel in the fish. Then he would lay the rod and the unhooked fish on the floor and lean back over the side to make his lake deposits. Then I would unhook the fish and drop his line back in. And then we would repeat the process. At one point I looked over at Jim and saw that Dad, sitting right beside Jim, was eating a ham sandwich. He was totally unaffected by Jim’s puking?! To top it off, Dad’s sandwich got wet. But Depression babies waste nothing, and so he literally wrung the water out of it and ate it as though it was freshly made. Jim would puke and Dad would take a bite of his soggy sandwich. As I recall it, I did not eat any lunch that day.

The other memory is a little less graphic. I had a 24-foot Trophy and we were trolling. At that time, we only had the Loran system, no GPS or mapping software. We navigated with the compass. We had eight lines out and I needed to do something that took me away from the wheel. Dad said he would drive, so I told him what heading to run and to not vary from that. When I finished what I was doing and looked up, I noticed that every single line was tangled!

Me: “Dad, I thought I told you to run a straight course.”

Dad: “I did. I aimed straight for that white boat out there and I never veered off of it.”

Me: “I see. Well, did you notice that that particular white boat is moving?!”

Dad: “No.”

Me: “It is.”

Dad: “Well, damned if it isn’t. Well, you better get those lines straightened out. Can’t catch any fish if they aren’t any lines in the water.”

So, I cut the lines, re-rigged, and did not let Dad drive anymore that day.

Just thinking about fishing with Dad conjures up these kinds of pleasant memories.

Fishing with Dad Today:

On that trip last year with Doug I consciously realized that I remember Dad every single time I go fishing. He is always fishing with me.

When I unload the boat from the trailer, I remember that Dad would back up as many times as necessary to have the boat in the water perfectly. Even if it took 5 or 6 or 10 tries. I remember that he always had the van doors open so he could see how the boat was going into the water. (Why use the mirrors?) He also always spiked the brakes to shoot the boat off the trailer. And I remember the time at Pymatuning when he spiked the brakes and his spare motor came flying out the back of the van and landed in the lake. By the way, Dad is the only person I ever knew that took a spare motor along.

I also remember Dad when I load my boat back onto the trailer. There was a time at the Prendergast launch on Chautauqua that we could not get his boat on the trailer straight. There was a pretty stiff breeze, and it always pushed the boat off the trailer. As fathers and sons sometimes do, we had differing opinions on how to solve this problem. That only complicated the situation.

Eventually the 5 or 6 guys that were patiently waiting to use the ramp suggested that we just get the boat out of the water. I knew that they had finally run out of patience and just wanted us out of the way. Dad pulled the boat up and those guys quickly converged on the boat. One guy told me to grab on, and we lifted the boat into the proper place on the trailer. You can meet the nicest people when you go fishing!

Loading the boat also reminds me of a conversation that I had with Dad while loading his boat. We were again fishing for walleyes on Pymatuning. All day long Dad kept yelling at me to speak up. “You’re mumbling again. Speak up so I can understand you.” All day long. I should have just started saying everything twice, since I had to anyway. It actually got a bit frustrating.

Later, after we had his boat on the trailer, Dad said, “Wait a minute. I have to put my hearing aids in.” WHAT? “You know you accused me of mumbling all day long, but you did not have your hearing aids in. Why didn’t you have them in?” To which he replied, “It was windy, and it just howls in my hearing aids, so I took them out. I guess I couldn’t hear you either way.” And to Dad, that was verification that I was mumbling, because he could not hear me either way!

I remember Dad in a lot of different ways when I am fishing or getting ready to go. Like every time someone catches a catfish. He loved catching them, but I always told him he could not bring a catfish into a muskie boat. But he always did, smirking with silent enjoyment when he did.

I remember Dad when I am just cruising down a lake, because Dad loved speed on the water.

I remember Dad when I am going through fishing rods. I have the ones I built for him. I have the old casting set up he used in the 1950’s.

I remember Dad when the lake kicks up a little, or a lot. “Good walleye chop” he would say whether the waves were 6 inches or 6 feet.

I remember him every time someone rigs a harness with a worm. For whatever reason, worms were Dad’s thing with fishing. Old school. He would much rather use meat than a lure.

Dad Told Me He was Coming Along:

To understand the significance of this memory, I need to give you a little background. Dad worked for over 40 years at a local steel mill. He started right after he returned from the war and never worked any place else. We used to pick him up at the clock house gate. Mom always sent me down to see if he was out yet and if he had caught a ride with a friend. I had to ask the guard using Dad’s clock number, 13 13.

He was always proud of that number. Many people, probably some of you, buy into the superstition of unlucky 13. But not Dad. He liked that number so much that he even just put 13 13 on his fishing and hunting gear instead of his name. Doug and I did and still do affectionately refer to him at times simply as 13 13.

That is the background, now for the story. Dad passed in April of 2011. Jim and I made our first fishing trip of the year in May. Dad often fished with us. He and Jim bickered like Grumpy Old Men, but they were the best of friends. As we got into the truck to head off, Jim noted that this was our first trip where Dad could not come along. Yep, it was. On our way to the lake we stopped at a local bar and restaurant that had pretty good food at a reasonable price and ate lunch. When the check came, I told Jim that I was buying. I looked at the check and was speechless. The two meals totaled $13.13. I showed Jim and he immediately remarked, “Your dad did come along.”

I kept that receipt pinned to the visor of my truck. Eventually, the ink faded until it was just a piece of plain paper. Now it is another one of my memories of Dad.

I think Dad was telling us he would always be fishing with us. I did not realize it then. I know it now.

Final Thoughts:

It is a funny thing. I think I appreciate having Dad along now as much as I did when he could actually go. Maybe more. Jim, too. He also has passed on. It is comforting knowing that I have pleasant memories of them. Dad and Jim never cared about catching fish. They just wanted to go. I never knew Dad to fish alone or with someone other than family. I never knew Jim to fish with anyone other than us or his son. I guess Dad taught me how to truly enjoy fishing, but I did not learn it when he taught it. I had to get old to do that. Too bad for me.

Fishing with family friends created some of the most pleasant memories that I have. All those times that were irritating when they happened are funny now. They give credence to the saying, “Someday we will laugh about this. Just not now.” And all the times that were just sheer enjoyment, are enjoyable now as pleasant memories.

Yes, Dad still goes on every fishing trip. It’s okay. I want him there. I wish he really was there.

What are your favorite fishing memories? I bet it feels good to remember. Feel free to share your fishing memories with us.

I hope you come back, but whether you do or you do not, remember to be safe on the water, wear your PFD. Most of all, Have fun. Go fishing.