by Rory Pollaro

Created on: March 16, 2009

Having spent years, more than 40, fishing, it is hard to select one favorite moment spent angling. I remember so many days afield with my father, brothers, friends, my children too.

I remember my children's first trout, and my son's first bass, as well as his first decent sized bass. I remember my ex-wife reading books and listening to the sweet gurgle of water over rocks while I fly fished for trout. But for me, one fishing trip seems to float always at the surface of my memories. It was when my father was in the hospital and my uncle and I went fishing for northern pike.

Now my father was considered the last mountain man in our area and people who didn't know him at all, knew about his skills and knowledge in the outdoors. Dad was an avid piker and probably forgot more about catching those wirey warriors than I'll ever know.

It was May and Dad was in Erie in a hospital having his heart checked over. He longed to be home so he could be on the river catching northerns, but his family bugged him to take care of his health first - there would always be more pike. My mom's brother, my uncle, promised Dad he'd take me piking on the river.

That morning was warm and filled with bird songs and sunshine as we walked from our truck to the river. There were about a dozen anglers there and one of them was in Dad's favorite spot. He was so well known on the river that people would surrender the spot to him out of respect. But I am not my Dad and no such offer was afforded me.

Instead, the guy boasted that he would outfish us because he had the best spot on the river. My uncle and I chuckled to ourselves, knowing we had dad's trainihng to help us. We went down the bank aways to another spot and began fishing. As noon approached, which was our normal cut off time, none of the anglers at "the spot" had so much as had a hit, but my uncle had two huge northerns and I had three smaller but still decent pike. We left at noon with the stares of our fellow anglers as our trophy.

When we showed pictures to my dad it made him want to recover faster so he could fish, which is what he did. So eventhough dad wasn't with me then, just as he is no longer with me now, his knowledge is locked in safety in my heart, which is why this was one of my favorite days fishing - I learned that I could carry dad's legacy to the next generation. There are still pike in the river and dad's spot has been empty now for five years and only his family members fish that spot. But there are more pike and now it's my son's turn to learn from me what I learned from dad. The circle of life and tradition remains strong. Thanks for the memory Dad.

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