Love of Fishing

For the first time in writing, I really do not know how to start to talk about this but to yell out loudly one single word “FISH!”

Oh my goodness. To be the one person yelling “FISH”, is one of the most exciting things I know. Serious adrenaline rush occurs the moment you have a steel head or a salmon on the line. For my small stature, an epic battle between woman and fish commences. It takes all my will and strength to pull in a fish. When I am done, I feel so much pride and achievement.

My father, may his soul rest in peace, really instilled the love of fishing within me. From a very young age, fishing was a part of providing for the family. What ever was caught was eaten or stored for the winter months. Myself, I didn’t care about food preservation, I was there for the fun. To be honest, this was dad time.

My parents divorced when I was fairly young. However, once in a while, the phone would ring and it would be my dad on the other line. “Baby girl, collect worms tonight and we’ll go fishing in the morning.” he would say. This phrase was always welcomed and great excitement set in.

Now, collecting worms. This activity wasn’t all that comfortable for me at all. One must be out in the rain, at night, with a flashlight chasing down slimy worms. Actually, I was pretty good at snagging those little buggers. I learned to watch the edge of the flashlight for their body sticking out fo the ground. I was fast at the grab and patient enough to wiggle them the rest of the way out of their hole. What time I spent out collecting worms was well worth my effort.

Early the next morning, dad would pull up with his little fishing boat being towed by his truck. Lunch? Check. Water? Check. Worms? Check. Out of the house I would fly. Steps? I flew over them. Probably not, but there wasn’t anyone or anything to stop me from going fishing with my dad. Into the truck bed I went to put the worms and my lunch into the cooler then to climb into the cab with dad. Father and daughter day begins.

I am fortunate enough to say that our local inland lakes were close by. In no time, we arrived in Conway Michigan, and dad would back the boat up to the boat launch. As a team, we launch the boat and tethered it down. A cooler and two people later, dad would start the engine. The smell of the small engine exhaust would burn my nose. The long desired constant chug of the engine sounded and I settled in for a ride.

The mornings in Northern Michigan can be very brisk. When you are riding in a boat the wind can cut right through you. Yet, I closed my eyes and just took in the rush of air in my face. So refreshing to be on the water with fresh air. By the time dad stopped, I would be very cold and all bundled up tight. I loved it all even the cold brisk air.

After a 30 minute ride, I could see my dad’s favorite fishing spot nearing and I could hear the engine slowing. I made it without frostbite but not without frozen fingers. I have always had cold hands so the added coldness just made them ache.

Dad was always prepared for the warm up Period. Pepsi and BlackBerry Brandy was given to us kids to help us to warm up. When we went camping we would have the same drink every morning too. It just was. Tradition I suppose. Dad poured us both a drink and I always welcomed the drink as we readied our lines and bated our hooks. Maybe the brandy helped the ache in my hands subside too. Either way, I carry on that tradition when camping because it just seems to warm one up.

I could go on with the details of the day but I digress from yelling “FISH!”. In Petoskey, Salmon and steelhead fishing takes place on the Bear River. Men, and a few women, line the river for their fish. The community that is there is wonderful. We catch up with old friends and make new friends.

I never fished there with my dad. You see, I was too small and a girl. The guys wouldn’t approve of a girl fishing with them. I did watch dad tie his own egg sacks. So I learned what I needed to for later in life adventures. My first trying fishing at the river’s mouth, I was in my 30’. I decided I was going to provide fish for my mother. The queen wanted fresh fish so the queen will get fresh fish. No one else would fish for her so off I went to the river’s edge.

Bare with me. I had no business going to the fishing hole with the pole I had. Not to mention the reel was cheap. I just grabbed a pole and off I went. I blame dad. He did not teach me what kind of fishing pole I would need for such a task. Dad failed me big time on this issue. I am sure the men were entertained with my set up. All I can say there was no pole envy when I came to the fishing hole.

Eric, Please forgive me, but I am not changing your name. My cousin Eric saw me land my first fish after an epic battle. I pulled in a 21lb salmon with a regular fishing pole. The pole, survived, amazingly enough but the quality of my gear did not make the landing any easier. The epic battle ensued and I was so proud of myself. Needless to say, Eric keeps improving my gear as the years have gone by.

My first time fishing down at the river was an act of defiance. I really had to defy my father in order to go fishing during the salmon run. Girls don’t belong there remember? I steadied myself and stood up to the railing and lowered my line. I am a fisherwoman. I love fishing so maybe I would love this too? I gave it a go and yes I loved it. To hell with dad, he will not stop me from fishing again.

In 2019 mom walked on. In her leaving I no longer had to provide fish for her. My gear and everything sits in storage. Untouched, line is getting brittle, and dust is settling in. The desire of the camaraderie and friends is there but the purpose is not. Even the thrill wasn’t enough to pull me back to the river. I just couldn’t find it.

This year, 2019, I didn’t fish with a pole. I had the opportunity to learn how to spear fish. At the age of 55, I ran the stream with much younger people and I did manage to score two fish! I stood a proud elder when I asked a younger person to take my fish to the cleaning table. He look upon me with a smile because he was so proud of me. That felt good to learn a new skill and I was able to keep up with the younger generation. I still fished but it wasn’t the same to me.

I am an Archivist, I research and preserve history. Right now, during my study of a local news paper, I have been reading about the process it took to establish the Native American fishing rights. The historic battle that is unfolding through the articles, commentaries, and letters to the editors shows great strife. According to the treaties, we may hunt and fish within the designated area and have a license to do so. The locals didn’t agree and strife occurred that included distraction of property, confiscation, death of fishermen, destruction of business, Illegal arrest and who knows what else I will find. Battles basically began in the newspapers in 1885 and through the years, including current times. It’s interesting to see the fight and how long it took for the Government to uphold the treaties. I am just amazed at the content contained in the old news papers.

I have finally found a purpose for fishing.

*I will stand as a proud Native American practicing my treaty rights.

*I honor my ancestors whom fought hard and survived many hardships while trying to make a living and providing for their family.

* I love to fish.

*I miss my friends.

*I miss watching my cousin Eric pull in 10 fish compared to my 1.

*I miss being true to Me.

I belive all of the above reasons is a good reason to return to the fishing hole in 2022.

Thank you for reading. I would like to invite you to read my other stories and poems. Just click the link below.