The photo is a picture I took of my dad on Masonboro Island last February. I have been working on a post about one of the many eccentric types I met along the Appalachian Trail for today’s Sunday Scribblings ,but I don’t think I’ll finish it on time due to Father’s Day Activities. So instead, I decided to rework a piece I wrote last year, but didn’t get it posted in time for Father’s Day.
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Some people might think I am crazy about fishing. That’s not the case. I enjoy fishing, but I mostly enjoy being outdoors. My father, however, is crazy about fishing. Most of what he taught me about life came through the lens of this sport.
We moved near the coast when I was nine years old. My parents had always wanted to live near the ocean and when my father got an opportunity to transfer to the area, he jumped at it. We kids weren't so sure, leaving friends behind and all, but it turned a pretty good place to grow up.
My father quickly learned the art of fishing for flounder and taught my brother and me. We spent hours on rising tide, fishing for flounder at Masonboro Inlet. Although such fishing isn’t as graceful as using a fly rod, it requires at least as much skill. Dad showed us how to tie our own rigging, using an 18 inch piece of light wire with a triple hook on one end and a one ounce torpedo sinker on the other. The rigging was attached to the line of a lightweight spinning rod. A live minnow, which we generally caught with throw nets (another acquired skill I never quite mastered), was hooked through the lips. Walking in knee deep water armed with a spinning rod we’d cast the line out into the depths, searching for holes where a flounder might hide. The line was slowly retrieved, the weight keeping the minnow near the bottom where flounders lay. We careful felt for tell-tell bumps on your line, indicating a flounder taking the bait. When that happened, we’d loosen the drag and give the flounder about a minute to take the minnow into its mouth, before yanking the line in order to set the hook. If we prematurely yanked the line, we’d pull the minnow out of the mouth of the flounder. From such fishing, we learned patience. Hurrying only caused you to miss fish.
A year after we moved to the area, Dad brought a 14 foot Jon- boat with a six horsepower Evinrude outboard motor. For years, that was the only boat he had and was perfect for navigating the creeks running behind Masonboro Island, a nine mile long barren strip of beach that stretched from Masonboro Inlet to Carolina Beach Inlet. Soon we were fishing the barren beaches for founder on rising tide and for Bluefish during the fall run. The island became a second home. Since the creeks only have water in them on high tide, a fishing trip more than an hour or two long committed you for most of the day. Often, we’d make a two day trip, camping overnight. In the fall, at low tide, we’d collected oysters and in the evening roast them over coals. Breakfast often consisted of roasted bluefish.
On one of our overnight fishing expeditions, my dad hooked a huge fish on a heavy surf rod. For nearly an hour he fought the fish. He’d get the fish almost up into the surf only to have it run back out into the ocean. During this time he moved up and down the surf, till he finally wore the fish out enough to safely beach him. It was the largest Red Drum I’ve seen. The tide had already dropped and there was no way we could get the fish back to the mainland till the next morning. My dad knew the fish might be close to a record, but since he could get it to a weight station, and since our cooler wasn’t large enough to hold it, he gutted the fish, stuff ice in its hollowed cavity, and buried it in the sand. The next morning, we dug the fish up and headed to a marina where they had a weight station. Even after being gutted and drying out overnight, the fish still weighted 47 pounds, just a couple pounds shy of the season’s record. My father stoically accepted fate. If he had been able to get the fish to the marina the day before, he’d probably set the record. However, if it bothered him, he never let on to it. Another lesson taught by action, you don’t complain about things you have no control over. This, by the way, included mosquitoes and sand gnats and the weather. There was no need to complain about the obvious.
My father seldom spoke of the beauty of it all, but the times I spent with him on the beach instilled in me an awe of creation. I’ve seen more sunrises and moonrises on the ocean that I can count. I've watched many sunsets behind the marsh grass of Myrtle Grove Sound. I taught myself the names of the stars, especially the autumn sky, since fishing was best in the fall. There’s nothing more majestic than watching Orion’s belt rise above the ocean on a moonless night. Enjoying the outdoors was something we gained through osmosis.
For years my father continued to use that old Jon-boat, keeping the motor in tip-top shape. The motor still runs; my nephew uses it today on a boat he built in his high school shop class. He waited till he could afford a larger boat, a very utilitarian fishing boat. Then, a few years ago, as he was getting ready to retire, he purchased an even larger boat that allows him to run out to the edge of the Gulf Stream, in his search for bigger fish. His patience has paid off and now he can spend his kid’s inheritance on gas, for his new boat cost as almost as much to fill up as that first Jon-boat cost. However, Dad never allows us to pay. Being on his boat is his gift.
Patience and don’t sweat the stuff you can’t change were two lessons Dad instilled in me while out on or by the water. When I think back I'm amazed at how young my parents were. They’d gotten married three days after my mother turned 18, just a month after they’d graduated from high school. I was born a year and a half later. I’m amazed they pulled it off for the year after my birth, my brother dropped in, and the year after that came my sister. They waited a longer time before having my youngest brother. For such young parents, they both did a great job. Happy Father’s Day, Dad!
We moved near the coast when I was nine years old. My parents had always wanted to live near the ocean and when my father got an opportunity to transfer to the area, he jumped at it. We kids weren't so sure, leaving friends behind and all, but it turned a pretty good place to grow up.
My father quickly learned the art of fishing for flounder and taught my brother and me. We spent hours on rising tide, fishing for flounder at Masonboro Inlet. Although such fishing isn’t as graceful as using a fly rod, it requires at least as much skill. Dad showed us how to tie our own rigging, using an 18 inch piece of light wire with a triple hook on one end and a one ounce torpedo sinker on the other. The rigging was attached to the line of a lightweight spinning rod. A live minnow, which we generally caught with throw nets (another acquired skill I never quite mastered), was hooked through the lips. Walking in knee deep water armed with a spinning rod we’d cast the line out into the depths, searching for holes where a flounder might hide. The line was slowly retrieved, the weight keeping the minnow near the bottom where flounders lay. We careful felt for tell-tell bumps on your line, indicating a flounder taking the bait. When that happened, we’d loosen the drag and give the flounder about a minute to take the minnow into its mouth, before yanking the line in order to set the hook. If we prematurely yanked the line, we’d pull the minnow out of the mouth of the flounder. From such fishing, we learned patience. Hurrying only caused you to miss fish.
A year after we moved to the area, Dad brought a 14 foot Jon- boat with a six horsepower Evinrude outboard motor. For years, that was the only boat he had and was perfect for navigating the creeks running behind Masonboro Island, a nine mile long barren strip of beach that stretched from Masonboro Inlet to Carolina Beach Inlet. Soon we were fishing the barren beaches for founder on rising tide and for Bluefish during the fall run. The island became a second home. Since the creeks only have water in them on high tide, a fishing trip more than an hour or two long committed you for most of the day. Often, we’d make a two day trip, camping overnight. In the fall, at low tide, we’d collected oysters and in the evening roast them over coals. Breakfast often consisted of roasted bluefish.
On one of our overnight fishing expeditions, my dad hooked a huge fish on a heavy surf rod. For nearly an hour he fought the fish. He’d get the fish almost up into the surf only to have it run back out into the ocean. During this time he moved up and down the surf, till he finally wore the fish out enough to safely beach him. It was the largest Red Drum I’ve seen. The tide had already dropped and there was no way we could get the fish back to the mainland till the next morning. My dad knew the fish might be close to a record, but since he could get it to a weight station, and since our cooler wasn’t large enough to hold it, he gutted the fish, stuff ice in its hollowed cavity, and buried it in the sand. The next morning, we dug the fish up and headed to a marina where they had a weight station. Even after being gutted and drying out overnight, the fish still weighted 47 pounds, just a couple pounds shy of the season’s record. My father stoically accepted fate. If he had been able to get the fish to the marina the day before, he’d probably set the record. However, if it bothered him, he never let on to it. Another lesson taught by action, you don’t complain about things you have no control over. This, by the way, included mosquitoes and sand gnats and the weather. There was no need to complain about the obvious.
My father seldom spoke of the beauty of it all, but the times I spent with him on the beach instilled in me an awe of creation. I’ve seen more sunrises and moonrises on the ocean that I can count. I've watched many sunsets behind the marsh grass of Myrtle Grove Sound. I taught myself the names of the stars, especially the autumn sky, since fishing was best in the fall. There’s nothing more majestic than watching Orion’s belt rise above the ocean on a moonless night. Enjoying the outdoors was something we gained through osmosis.
For years my father continued to use that old Jon-boat, keeping the motor in tip-top shape. The motor still runs; my nephew uses it today on a boat he built in his high school shop class. He waited till he could afford a larger boat, a very utilitarian fishing boat. Then, a few years ago, as he was getting ready to retire, he purchased an even larger boat that allows him to run out to the edge of the Gulf Stream, in his search for bigger fish. His patience has paid off and now he can spend his kid’s inheritance on gas, for his new boat cost as almost as much to fill up as that first Jon-boat cost. However, Dad never allows us to pay. Being on his boat is his gift.
Patience and don’t sweat the stuff you can’t change were two lessons Dad instilled in me while out on or by the water. When I think back I'm amazed at how young my parents were. They’d gotten married three days after my mother turned 18, just a month after they’d graduated from high school. I was born a year and a half later. I’m amazed they pulled it off for the year after my birth, my brother dropped in, and the year after that came my sister. They waited a longer time before having my youngest brother. For such young parents, they both did a great job. Happy Father’s Day, Dad!
Thanks for sharing the photo and the story about your Dad. Great story and lessons learned. My daddy loved to fish much more than I do as well. He never fished on the ocean, though I'm sure he would have loved to if he had ever lived near the ocean. My Daddy died in June of 2000. I miss him very much and would love to go fishing with him now just to spend time with him. You are very blessed to have such good memories of your dad now while he is alive. They will be even sweeter in the years to come.
ReplyDeleteAren't you forgetting a brother or is he just not applicable here? :-) What do you hope your daughter learns from you besides the appreciation of a head full of hair?
ReplyDeleteThanks for reminding what today is. Happy Father's Day, Sage.
Great story Sage. Thanks for sharing. It reminding me that I too went fishing with my dad years ago when I was in scouts. Fresh water fishing up in the Sierra Nevada's. Happy Father's Day to you.
ReplyDeleteThanks Charley
ReplyDeleteMurf, I edited the post and included a mention of my younger brother, but the stuff I was writing about was when he was an infant or toddler
Dan, my dad fished some in fresh water, but not much. I have never been able to get him in places like the Sierras (I completed the John Muir Trail)
Sage, now that i'm back everyone is hinting I ought to be fishing. I just found my pole, so, I believe I will for a day...I'll probably hook up with Twister and go.
ReplyDeleteMy Dad also loved to fish, taking us when we were little and then his grandkids after that. Nice Father's Day post. Michele says hi.
ReplyDeleteMy dad is the green thumb fixit man. I don't think I ever knew him to hunt or fish...but our whole family has a love for the outdoors. The only problem is...none of us have cars reliable enough to take us to them.
ReplyDelete:)
Excellent story Sage. My father was never much of a fisherman unless we went into the mountains. It was there that he transformed and became one.
ReplyDeleteSage, I too learned my love of nature from my dad. He loved hunting and fishing. Though, I didn't acquire his love for either sport I did learn to love the outdoors. Thanks for bringing back good memories!!
ReplyDeleteSage this was such a nice tribute to your dad. He taught you some very valuable things outdoors! I hope you too enjoyed your Father's Day....and the photo with your dad walking, that is so nice.
ReplyDeleteSage: A truly appreciative look at your Father. Wonderful!!
ReplyDeleteWonderful story, sage! Alot of life's lessons can be learned with a fishing rod
ReplyDeleteGreat tribute, Sage. You obviously have a great appreciation of creation. It's displayed in your writings and the pictures you take.
ReplyDeleteI'm also amazed at how young so many parents were years ago, and how they made it work.
Great Father's Day story! Dads play such an important role in our lives.
ReplyDelete