One of the things about getting older is trying to hang onto memories. That fact is, that the older you get, the more you forget. I have spent a great deal of my youth in the great outdoors. From my earliest days as a Boy Scout and the many trips to places that I’ve fished, explored and travelled to. So many places that it’s extremely difficult remembering all of them.
I get a joy being outdoors. Even sometimes, when the weather really sucks. I can remember times outdoors fishing that I had to say to myself that I must be nuts trying to catch fish in this weather. Recently, I was thinking about many of my old fishing trips and the places I have visited. It’s a very long list. Not all good fishing trips ended with fish caught but fishing at some destinations and taking in the adventure factor made the trip a success.
I would say hiking the back country in the Eastern Sierra and just getting to a place that God lovingly created for your eyes to behold, ranks high as being a successful fishing trip even if you never caught a thing. I just don’t understand why some anglers always measure a successful fishing trip with the number of fish caught, when all the other factors about the trip should be filtered in.
Whether it’s fishing with old acquaintances that you haven’t seen in years or someone new, the experience of doing something outdoors usually leaves me with a good feeling.
I think about friends long gone in passing and it saddens me to remember those days on the water with them when it should be the opposite feeling of the joy we had together. I think it’s only natural to be sad because it makes us feel our own mortality is coming closer to the end of our days. I have met and fished with hundreds of people in my lifetime. I cannot remember them all at this time in my life. I think it’s time to move on.
While I still remember ……..
The joy of catching my 1st trout on a local Catskill stream with my cousin Robert. Showing off that stocker trout to my Aunt Leah with tremendous pride. Great memory.
Fishing the Hudson River across from New York City with my grandfather Sol at the age of 5. Watching other anglers catching electric eels. Yeck ! Glad we didn’t catch any.
Flounder fishing with my future Brother In Law Bill and my sister Janie down along the Jersey shore’s river inlets. We caught a bunch of tasty flounder.
Fishing down at Virginia Beach for blue crabs with chicken legs, string and a large pole net. Caught about 40 for a crab pot roast party on the beach.
Trying my hand at fly fishing on the Ramapo River in New Jersey. Never was any good at it but it was a beautiful shallow river to fish.
Fishing in people’s backyards on the Saddle Brook River. Literally, it went through people’s back yards.
Trying my hand at fishing for Atlantic Stripers at Montauk Point. Didn’t catch any but saw some guy pull a monster striper out that day. I was very impressed as a teenager to see it.
My first taste of bass fishing on Pompton Lake in a canoe and being attacked by a giant white swan. It was mating season apparently. Who knew? Not me that’s for sure.
Fishing Cooper’s Pond in Bergenfield, N.J. with my homies when some guy named Jimmy Dean the sausage king, comes up to us with some photographers asking for a photo of him fishing with us for the local paper. Then turns around and gives me a five dollar bill and tells me to buy my pals and me some candy. For real it happened. I was probably 7-9 years old. Memory ain’t what it use to be.
Both me and my cousin Robert pitching spinners in Yellowstone Lake. I never saw a lake that had big waves crashing onshore nor the fully grown moose chewing swamp grass thirty yards from us. Then I caught a 3.5 lb. Cutthroat and then my cousin caught a two pounder. My dad and mom ate well that night after brushing off six inches of snow from the picnic table in early July.
Dad driving me and neighborhood buddies to Lake Tiorati in the Bear Mountains in N.Y. About a 1.5-2 hour drive from our home in early April. Got out of car, ran on top of large boulder and started fishing but lake was frozen over except about 5 feet from shore. Boulder started to move out from under my feet and downhill into the lake. I went flying through the air and right through the ice. The boulder just missed rolling over me under the ice. Got out of the water and was turning blue from exposure. Packed everyone into car and drove me to Bear Mountain Inn. Put me in front of giant fireplace with a blanket and cup of hot chocolate. End of trip……everyone really pissed at me going home. Almost forgot that one.
When my parents moved from Jersey to Rancho Bernardo in San Diego County I would go to Lake Poway trout fishing. Got pretty good at it and usually showed up at their house with trout for them to eat. Then I got into serious bass fishing all the lakes in San Diego County. There was a learning curve for me to get good at bass fishing but I had some really good days bass fishing topped off with a 13 pounder from Vale Lake.
I can go on trying to write about some of my old memories fishing and probably will in the future for all your amusement. Word to you all….. don’t forget stuff that might be worth remembering. Tell your stories while you still can.
