Thursday, September 6, 2007

Fear, Fish and Gratitude


I am older now, than my father was when the picture to the left was taken. He is the bald one with the trout.
At 42 and still healthy and I was 17 and had decided not to go on the fishing trip with him that week, for whatever stupid reason. He died twenty years after this photo was taken and we never fished together during that time. I always had some stupid reason I couldn't.


He suffered the last 15 years of his life with one malady or another from cancer to emphysema, which finally killed him. During that 15 years he was hard to be around. He become more and more bitter with each passing year; growing angrier as his body deteriorated, at God for breaking His promise to ensure my father would walk and not be weary were he, my Dad, to simply avoid coffee, tea, tobacco and booze.


All the plans he had made to spend his retirement enjoying life were trampled down to serial trips to the hospital and to various doctors who would poke and prod and make suggestions my father just could not tolerate. During one hospital stay, I visited and invited him to go grouse hunting with me when he was released. He got mad and told me to leave and never come back because he and I both knew his grouse hunting days were in his past.


On other visits he cruel to my children.

Once, during a private moment with my mother, I asked how she put up with his cruelty. She told me she believed my dad was making everyone hate him so no one would cry at his funeral. I don't think he was capable of that kind of generosity by then.


I am 55 and in pretty good health. I don't often think about not being in good health but when I do, I am filled with fear that I will be exactly like my father was. I believe I will provoke a promise from my best friend to shoot me if I begin to drive away those I should embrace.
So far, when my children or grandchildren are around, they have not missed a chance to go fishing with me for stupid reasons. On the few occasions where they have not been able to go, it was for work or illness or something legitimate. They pretended, at least, that they would have preferred casting a line with their dad or grandpa.


Several of my grandchildren live in Utah. Last Summer I took them fishing. We drove up the Blacksmith's Fork canyon to a small pond behind a little dam on the river where, of the three with rods and reels, only one, Spencer, the three year-old, caught fish. That was because he was so fascinated with taking apart the reel, he left his worm in the water, without jerking it around. He caught two Rainbow trout but was afraid to hold even one of them for a photo.


I should mention that my son, their father, was also there. he spent most of the time watching Hyrum, the youngest, but I was able to give him a lesson or two with the fly rod.


I first took him fishing when he was three. He caught Bluegills by the dozens on his own little Zebco spin/cast combo. When he was about 8, he snagged a large, dying Coho from the Black River, all by himself. I will never forget him dragging the fish up Margurite Lane in Paw Paw, to the house. I didn't have the heart to tell him all the flesh was rotten so I filleted it and stored it in the freezer for a clandestine disposal.


When he was 11, he journeyed with me to Northern Minnesota where we fished together and separately for most of the Summer. It wasn't a pleasant experience for him most of the time for reasons known to the family but not broadcastable here and on one particular afternoon in the boat, he taught me a lesson.


We were in Lake Rabideaux and I was critical of everything he was doing. He suddenly threw his rod down and asked me why I was being so mean to him. I had not good answer but looked inward and decided I was being exactly like my father. I apologized, told him I loved him, and we had a good time the rest of the day.


The best two days that Summer took place on Redgut Bay on the Rainey River in Canada. Sam, the son we're talking about, caught the largest variety of species as well as the largest walleye of the trip but for me, it was camping with him that was the best.


He has four children now, and a fifth on the way. He doesn't fish as much as he would like.


Just yesterday my daughter Erin, also an avid but inactive angler, asked me when we were going fishing. I wish I could have told her I would pick her up early Saturday morning but Athens, Georgia is a long way from Chicagoland.


The wish of my heart is to be together with my wife, my children and my children's children, fishing some clear, trout stream somewhere during the day and gathering around a campfire at night to remember out loud.


Erin is planning the reunion for a year from now but in December, we will be visiting her, Dan and the kids for Christmas in Athens. Maybe Erin and I can squeeze out a few hours and find a pond somewhere. In the meantime, I will make plans for the Summer of '09 by scouting out the stream and the campsite.

2 comments:

Binne77 said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Binne77 said...

Yes Gramp Q. was a mean ole biddy. I wish I could have known him a happy man. His loss.

However I understand his frustration in the body betrayal. I am learning health, however, is earned, not just had, because of some promise.

As far as Christmas....we should be able to find some manner of water to fish in. I know Dan and the kids would LOVE to go. In fact Daniel always mentions that P-Pa PROMISED to take him fishing. He'll hold you to it.

p.s. I deleted the first comment, because it said, 'GRAM' was a mean ole biddy. ROFL. I didn't want her to mistake my typo for me saying something mean about her. Bwahahahha....just my luck.