Gone Fishin'

Fishing has a long, rich history in my family. My father grew up with a love of fishing. As he tells it, starting around age 10 or 11, his family went every summer to visit his Uncle Leon who owned a place in Atlantic City and would take him deep sea fishing.

Growing up, we spent quite a few summer vacations cruising the Colorado River on a houseboat with fishing gear in tow. Of course, there was the year we took our RV onto the water via a huge floating platform with an engine and a steering wheel, appropriately called "Camp A Float." Courtesy of my dad, we have photographic evidence of the experience.

Flash back to the late 1970s.



I have incredibly fond memories of perching on a rock in a secluded cove and casting my little pole out to await the nibbles of hungry fish, aka dinner (this was way before the pristine nature of the river was destroyed by rowdy Spring Breakers). The excitement of reeling one in, no matter how small, gave me such a feeling of accomplishment and made me feel invincible (hmm, maybe I should try fishing again, asap). And none of that boat fishing for me. With a tendency to get a little seasick, I prefer to keep my feet firmly on the ground.

It was an experience in which the entire family wholeheartedly participated.


[that's cousin Rachel next to Greg on the left, along with me, my mom and Brian.]


[Handsome dad!]

After we caught enough for the day, my brother Brian would take our longboard out into the river, where he could still stand, and relish the gruesome process of cleaning each and every fish on that board.



Fishing played a part in both my brother's bachelor parties - Greg had a weekend back out on a houseboat on the river, and Brian took an overnight deep sea fishing trip. They got married 6 months apart and at the time, I remember thinking how stinkin' cool both my brothers were to be avoiding the typical Vegas bachelor party scene and instead doing something that had such history and meaning for them.

The fishing tradition has made its way down to the youngest generation as well. My father has made it a point to take each of his grandkids for their first fishing experience to a local stocked lake. Lauren has heard stories since she was only yay big, and has been begging Pop-Pop Mark for her turn.

Well, the time finally arrived last Thursday, when she was off of school for Sukkot. Pop-Pop arrived, and with her hair in a ponytail and new jeans donned for the occasion (girlfriend's still gotta be fashionable, you know), Lauren bounded out of the house for her adventure.

I'll admit to being a little concerned that she wouldn't catch anything. Our girl had such high expectations that would have been crushing.

Luckily, a few hours later, I received an email from my dad with 3 perfect photos attached.

First, she baited her hook, dropped her line in, and patiently waited.



Of course with my father there (the pied piper of fisherman), it was inevitable that she would catch one. In fact, she caught two.

She was so proud of her first fish and recounted to us in vivid detail how heavy it was and how she reeled it in all by herself. When asked to describe how big the fish was, her eyes opened wide and her arms stretched even wider (I would estimate about 2 feet across).

Witness Jaws:



Followed in short order by Jaws Jr.:



So the fishing bug has officially been passed to the littlest in the family. She's already talking about a couple of requirements for her next fishing trip. First up, to be accompanied next time not just by Pop-Pop, but by me and Daddy. Ok, that's easy. Second up, a boat. As in out on the water. Looks like someone will be investing in a little Dramamine soon.