Fishing with Dad
When asked to write a blog about fishing with my Dad I was caught off guard a little. My Father passed away a couple of years ago and I haven’t stopped thinking about fishing with him since. The first picture taken of me was of me kissing a trout when I was about 2 years old. My Dad used to love to go fishing with me. We used to get up real early in the morning and he would always let me have coffee with my frosted flakes. I would always be so excited that I usually got sick somewhere on the 2-hour drive to the mountains. I was always the kid screaming and crying at the boat dock after fishing all day and pissed off because it was getting dark. We fished the Sierras a lot around Lake Tahoe. In hind site the fishing really sucked. We would check the paper on Thursday to get the stocking schedule, pick a river or lake that was going to be planted and pretty much follow the hatchery truck up to the mountains, wait until the truck was out of site and start throwing out our salmon eggs and such. That is if we hade some salmon eggs left, see I had a thing for eating Pautskis Balls of Fire salmon eggs. My Dad used to get fairly upset with me. All that being said, fishing with my Dad has always meant the world to me. Yes we had our disagreements and such, especially when I started fly fishing and moved to the Yellowstone area. He never got the gist of fly fishing. We bumped heads a lot in his latter years about it, but now I would give almost anything to be sitting on a lake with him, listening to him wine about all the fish rising but nothing eating his salmon eggs. In summary, fishing with my Dad helped give me the love and appreciation for the outdoors and playing childish pranks on a few fish now and again.
Happy Fathers Day,