I can relate to these two. Armed with a stick for a rod and string terminated by an open safety pin, my earliest fishing expeditions were to whatever lies below the steel cover in front of our house on State Street.
The ‘blob of something’ I brought to the surface one day was never analyzed. ‘Mom, look what I caught!’
Eventually, I realized the futility of my ways. I decided to up my game to the canal near my house. I was young and clueless about the peril involved in my plan. Intuition must have kicked in because before tragedy could strike, mom appeared at the top of that steep canal bank. ‘If your dad catches you down there …!’
I don’t know what piqued my interest in fishing at such an early age because no one had ever taken me. Eventually, dad bought a boat, and the family spent many weekends trolling for trout on reservoirs around Idaho, Oregon, and Nevada.
There have been periods where my attentions were placed elsewhere, but I’ve always been an angler at heart. I’m back for good and long for days on the water with my flyfishing pals.
Sixty years after catching that blob under the street, I’d fly fish for salmon in the Alaska wilderness with my son.
Catching salmon is way more fun!