Family Fishing Trip

I’ve always been thankful to my dad for taking me and my sister fishing when we were little, worms or tiny squares of American cheese dangling from our hooks, red and white bobbers riding the little lake waves that we watched like hawks, waiting for them to shoot under the water to signal that we had indeed caught the big one.

And when you are under the age of six, catching sunfish and pan fish were like landing little whales, and we would all pose proudly with the ones that didn’t get away. We were taught ‘catch and release’ early on, letting our precious catches go back to their families so they could grow bigger for someone else to catch.

And, oh, the patience my dad pretended to have as he tried to teach his two pre-teen daughters how to cast, when all we really wanted to know was why fishermen had to rise so early on a weekend: Wouldn’t these same fish be around at noon?

And by the time we were teenagers, dad gave up trying to fish with us entirely, and instead simply brought Dawn and I to the spot on the lake where we could catch the best rays. While we tanned ourselves black, covered in baby oil mixed with iodine, dad was off to catch the big one in peaceful silence.

Jim loves to fish, and I have a feeling he was secretly impressed the first time I baited my own hook, was able to properly cast, and remove the hook from my catch without hurting myself or the fish. A fair weather fisherman, I joined Jim and his friends on trips when the weather was warm and the water did not contain leaches.

Jordan’s first Barbie fishing pole was as bright as Jamie’s first Spongebob Squarepants rod. We fished often and in places where we were guaranteed to catch something, to ensure they enjoyed each and every trip and had pictures of the big ones to share with Grandpa Bobby.

As Jordan and Jamie grew older, we fished bigger bodies of water, where they learned the tough lesson that what we were doing was called ‘fishing’, not ‘catching’.  Slowly they learned the sting of disappointment of not catching a single fish or not having a single bite did not ruin an entire day. The enjoyment of fishing came from being outside, spending time with family, and the constant allure of knowing big fish were out there, just waiting to be caught by us.

Anthony

When our nephews arrived for their mini-vacation at Casa Dralle, the first thing they wanted to know was when we were going fishing (the second thing was when we were going to have waffles with whip cream for breakfast). We assured them we would have plenty of time to fit in at least one fishing trip to ‘the good spot,’ and they were both off like a flash to find Jordan and Jamie to share the great news.

The following afternoon Jim loaded the minivan with five fishing rods and reels, four squealing children, three cans of bug spray, two tackle boxes and one newly printed Illinois fishing license. Prior to leaving, Jim explained that due to the hot weather the fish might not be biting, so he didn’t want to see any pouting or hear any complaining if they got skunked.

Jordan

Words could not have been more wasted. Within minutes of arriving, Jordan landed a bass with her first cast, and no less than fifteen more fish were caught between the four kids within a three-hour period. They even had the thrill of seeing a roughly hundred pound snapping turtle (which they nicknamed Snappy), who quickly wore out his welcome after he became a greedy bait snatcher.

They didn’t come home until after nine Friday night, bursting through the door with everyone talking at the same time, smelling like sweat, bug spray and dead fish, and Jordan thrusting her camera in front of my face to look at all the pictures she took. Once everyone was paraded through the shower, thrown into pajamas and fed a very late dinner, the fishing stories suddenly could miraculously wait until the next morning.

Over waffles and whip cream Saturday morning, a second fishing trip was planned for later that evening, which I promised I would join to serve as photographer and bait boy. It was then my turn to tell the ‘hot weather maybe they’re won’t be fish this time/yesterday was a fluke’ story, which was received by four sets of rolling eyes and smiling faces.

I’d forgotten how chaotic successful fishing with four children on a small pier with live bait could be, and Jim kept asking me if he had yet developed any noticeable facial tics.

Alec

As fast as we could bait the hooks and help them cast without poking out each other’s eyeballs, they were landing fish, having their bait stripped by turtles, tangling their lines around their reels, wanting their pictures taken and their fish released so they could be re-baited and cast again.

In what seemed like a fifteen-minute period, four hours had passed and the sun was already below the horizon. Mosquitoes the size of small planes began buzzing the pier, chewing on the children and chasing them back to the minivan in record time. The flying carnivores’ timing could not have been better.

Jamie

The kids could not have had two better fishing trips back-to-back. They were comfortable with their equipment, baited their own hooks most of the time, and caught more fish than they knew what to do with. They encouraged each other when the fishing slowed down, and cheered each other on when someone landed the big one.

Jim and I are so proud to have brought a wonderful tradition of family fishing forward to the next generation, an appreciation of Mother Nature and all she has to offer, and the patience necessary for everyone to enjoy it all.