by Ann Atwood

Created on: April 13, 2009

FISHING WITH MY DAD:

I often think back to my childhood and my memories of fishing with my dad. It didn't matter to him if I was a girl, in fact it brought much pleasure to him. Oh, I'm sure that at some point he had wished he'd had a son, but underneath he was still happy he had me to share his passion for fishing.

Beginning in March, well before the actual fishing season began, we would go down to the basement to drag out what was left of last year's tackle. I was never one to go down to that dusty and musty smelling cellar. There were always shadows that gave the impression that something might just be hiding around the corner beyond the old furnace that belched out all sorts of strange and scary noises. But with my dad there I didn't have those worries, I always felt safe. He would lovingly pull our poles down from the rafters where they had been stored in hibernation since the year before. The fishing poles and reels had been carefully stored in soft material lest any damage would happen to them. Those were inspected from top to bottom, making certain that they were well oiled and clean. My dad would never put up with sand or grit on any of our fishing gear. Next came putting on new line, making certain there was no slack in them. Once the rods and reels passed inspection, we made the move to the tackle boxes. We each had our own, but my dad never minded sharing any of his fishing gear with me. We made certain we had plenty of tackle, tossing out anything that had rusty or dulled hooks.

After the nightcrawlers were collected that evening before the season began, I thought I would never get to sleep. The big day was almost there, just one night away. We had made sandwiches and snacks, dug out that old cooler we had used since I could remember. My parents would tell me,"It's time to go to bed now. It's going to be hard getting up so early."

But my mind was racing like the wind. "How many fish would we catch, what size would they be, who would catch the biggest fish."

Suddenly my dad was shaking me awake telling me it was 4:30 and it was time to go. Pulling myself out of bed I wished I had gone to sleep earlier. But with the thought of today getting here that had been impossible.

After washing up, getting dressed and eating the breakfast that my mother made, there was one last inspection of what we were going to take. I swear to this day, there was always one thing we forgot about before leaving. It was usually the net or the creel. My mother had made a huge pots

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