Kids, Fishing & Small Fry Constellations

     With help from Jerry Wilber, the following rambling made me smile.  Hopefully it strikes a nerve or brings back a memory or two for you.  I thought of some very special people when writing this. First and foremost my own father. Growing up he always made time to take me fishing and teach me about the precious outdoors.  We were able to spend a few hours of boat time this weekend!  Hopefully his promised retirement produces even more time for us to figure out some fish together. THANK YOU DAD!                                       

                                                        

     Next I think of 'Grandpa Guy.'  Oh those countless trips to the cabin north of Rice Lake.  Pulling in  bluegills as fast as you could get your bobber to plop down near that special patch of lily pads 40 feet to the left of the old green dock.

     Finally I see good friend Dave Peterson.  He has a passion to get kids (his own and others) excited about enjoying the wild around us.  He is a great role model for those of us, who would rather selfishly keep our fishing holes, turkey blinds and deer stands to ourselves.

Small Fry Constellations

      I have taken kids fishing, and I believe the philosophy of it to be a sound one. But there are many things that go along with taking a kid fishing.  Most of it has little to do with wetting a line.  I've built castles in the sand and roasted marshmallows.  I used to be good at stone skipping, but now a 4 or 5 is the best I can do.  I am a bit nervous about other prerequisites of kids' fishing trips.  You know, like cannonballing from a limb of a riverside pine tree, or banging a couple rocks together to start a campfire after gathering enough kindling.

     I'll probably be able to beat most of these kids in arm wrestling...maybe.  I'll lose the contest of holding your breath under water.  Though I'm not as quick as I once was, I'll hold my own in catching frogs and painted turtles... I am smart enough to leave the snappers alone. That race to the top of the bluff and back...well count me in, albeit bringing up the rear.

    Yet, like those kids, I will still toss and turn in a sleeping bag waiting for the treasures that a wild sunrise will bring.  I will spit on my knot before tightening it on the hook shank like my Dad taught me.  I will go without fear, 2 miles upstream, or paddle to the far end of the lake, or make a portage, or cross a 40 degree river in shorts if it gets me and my fishing parnter a better shot at a trophy. 

                                                                    
    In my mind I will forever keep the following: the sounds of a morning filled with the cries from loons; the sound of bacon sizzling over a campfire; and the gentle splash of a canoe paddle as it enters the crisp gin colored water.

     Like the kids, I will marvel at the flaming colors of native brook trout.  I will search carfefully for the pie-plate shapes of spawing bluegill beds.  I will truly enjoy a shore lunch on paper plates with my friends of all ages. And certainly, I will be reluctant to call it quits when it is time to head back home...back to the real world.

    A person could do worse, I suppose, than go fishing with kids. You should take the time to try it.

     I could take up a couple pages in listing those who I thought of during this rambling. For sure Dad, Grandpa Guy, and Dave Peterson from above.  For those that don't see your name, please know your were in my thoughts as well:  Grandpa Lowell, Uncles Brian and Kurt, Little Denee, Big Hoff, Griz, 'Split Lake Jimmy,' Gilly, Johnny B, Lester and the Chippewa River Crew.

Thank you all-

-TGI