rough draft

 

For many fishing is defined by the obvious ingredients; poles, bait, hooks, and general knowledge of where and what you are fishing. For me, it goes much deeper than that. I may not know what each piece of equipment is called, or how to tie it together, but I know the rewards of learning to fish with people you love. These people also happen to have a fierce desire for fishing I cannot compete with. For a long time it was something I overlooked, and did not pay much attention to the hard work that goes in on your Sunday off. Yet I have always enjoyed cooking and eating fish, I never thought to stop and be thankful for where it came from, and what that catch possibly meant to that fisherman.

I know my experience with fishing is one that brought me a life lesson, I know I didn’t desire this lesson, or even know it would become one until recently. This experience has come full circle to me as one that I can ultimately use and help build my character as well as that of my son. As many of us know, we often look up to our parents, or the ones who shaped us in many ways. What started out for me as more of a burden resulted in something I now admire my own father for even more than before. In my life I feel my most valuable lessons were taught to me by my family.

As I grew up along the beach in Kingston, surrounded by woods and Puget Sound waters, I never knew how lucky I was. I had the ultimate childhood. My siblings and I spent endless hours on the beach learning about nature through play, always finding creative ways to entertain our minds and bodies. Little did I know then that my dad also used this beach as his own recreational passion. He would wake up at 3 or 4 am and go fishing before work, right off the beach. There were many times that I or my sister would attempt to tag along with him. We always wanted to catch a fish, but we never seemed to find the focus or patience to do so.  As a result my dad would usually end up sending us home, cold and defeated.

I spent quite a few years after that not giving the art of fishing a single thought, only enjoying the goods my dad would bring home. He would filet the fish, remove its bones, and prepare it for us. All very rewarding steps he took for his family. He smoked it, fried it, baked it, and barbequed it and no matter what, it was always delicious. I did not realize then that I would one day desire to recreate what my father had done for my family’s dinner and other sentimental reasons. My father taught me many life skills, including responsibility, hard work, cooking, cleaning, and being an active and accomplishing human being.

After turning 16 and having a bit of struggle with my early teenage years, rebellion and such, I moved to the Willamette Valley in Oregon. I found myself in a state of culture shock. My new friends and peers were submersed in a life of what I would have called “hick” or “backwoods”.  I knew that they loved big trucks, and going out “mudding” with their four wheel drive toys. They camped on the weekends and not in a state park, just up in the woods! I quickly began to love this lifestyle as well. I obtained my drivers license and began adventuring with them.

We would drive to the coast where many of the people we knew were commercial fishermen, leaving for months at a time and returning with high demand product for restaurants and retail. We went up in the hills of Grand Ronde where the rivers were endlessly winding around and you could stop and fish from the riverbank almost anywhere. There were a few instances where we had trailered a boat up river to then drift down. Sometimes fishing, sometimes just playing around. I began to do a lot of barbequing for my friends back at our campground. They seemed to be impressed with recipes I used of my fathers, so I was eager to report back to him and brag about remembering them from taste. So my father began asking me if I was fishing with my friends and offering again, to teach me what he knew. I still found no importance in learning this skill.” Leave it to the boys” I thought.  I was along for the ride.

I returned to Washington at the age of 22, along with my new baby son, Gavin. Before we settled into our own place, we stayed with my mother and father for about 3 months. I observed my father with the same old habits I found so comforting.  His smoked salmon was one I missed dearly! He was still trying so hard to get me to go fishing with him. I thought it sounded fun, but never did I have the time for it. After living here for 4 more years after that I still never went with him. I didn’t understand what it would mean to him until I was to go, just this last summer of 2012.

Although I hadn’t developed this desire to fish, I still thought about it as something I would eventually learn to do. I had my reasons. I was a mother to a son, so who else would be the one to teach him these life skills? I worried about that often. We live on the Puget Sound and many of the men in our family look as fishing like a “church” or something. As a child I learned so much about what not to do while fishing, don’t let go of the pole, watch where your hook goes, try not to get our lines tangled, reel it in, and these were things he needed to know too. I also had wanted to learn about fishing so I could join my father and his friends on trips, and feel like I had succeeded this rite of passage for my dad would be proud. There were times when I thought it would just be downright cool to know what the boys knew, be a part of the catching and not just the cooking (I am fully aware of how sexist that sounds).  I ultimately wanted to teach my son something that my father had taught me.

So I decided to do it. I picked a Sunday that worked for my father, and we went. I hadn’t gotten enough sleep the night before and was almost thinking about backing out, but my mother encouraged me by reiterating how very important this was to my father, he was very excited.   We packed a lunch and layered up on warm clothes.  We got up at 330 am, and were on the water in a fancy charter fishing boat bfore sunrise.  The sunrise was amazing. I had never seen so much from out on the water before.

I listened and tried so hard not to be in the way or act clueless. I reeled so hard I thought my arm would fall off. I overcame my wee bit of sea sickness I thought I had. I had a true bonding experience with my father that I never really thought I would enjoy so much. I talked with the guys on the boat like I knew what I was doing. I asked questions and really paid attention to the answers. I learned to fish with them.

My father could tell how tired I was after catching 2 of my very own silvers and offered to take care of the cleaning for me once we got home. I obliged and saw one more side of him that was so proud of me and so excited to have me there with him. I took so much from this experience that I chose this as something I could write so much about, something I now feel passion towards, and something that is shared between my father and me. I feel it is so significant because it allows me to learn from my father and teach to my child. Even my son was impressed with my catch of the day. I now have my very own “fish tale” to tell….and mine was the biggest!