Learning To Fish

My dad taught me to fish at an early age. I am not sure exactly when. I might have been three, but it could have been four. We lived in a neighborhood called Heather Downs. This was the first home my father and mother purchased. Our house sat on a hill above the Cedar River in Renton Washington.

My dad had bought me a fishing pole and showed me how to cast. I had this little rubber weight on the line and practiced casting in the back yard. I am not sure why it was even rubber because this thing was pretty solid. It could have broken the back window if I aimed in that direction. Mostly I aimed for my little brother, or the dog - just about anything other than the middle of the yard.

I wasn't old enough for school yet, so in my mind I practiced all day. In reality I probably had cast for one half of an hour. I was ready!

Although I know I would sit patiently waiting for him to come home from work so we could go fishing, my mom would probably dispute that. This seemed to be a regular routine. My memory says we would go fishing for about an hour (most likely all my dad could take!) before dinner. It seemed like every day, and I looked forward to it.

The Cedar River ran through a valley into Renton. We would drive up the highway to a few different spots. Sometimes it was a wide area we could pull off from the highway and in others there was a dirt road. In each case though we had to cross the railroad tracks. Every fishing trip was an adventure!

I got to carry my fishing pole and the new green creel for the fish we caught! When we walked on the trail to the river I remember all of the blackberry bushes. They were way above my father's head. I envisioned being in a jungle, if I even knew what one was.

I followed close behind. I didn't want to get lost. When we got to the river we would walk back and forth until he could find a place where he could sit me down without much fear of me wandering out of his sight.

He would get me tied up with a little hook and a little red worm. For those of you who have fished with us in Wyoming, the worms there eat the Washington worms for lunch. You have to put a small worm on a small hook, and you need a small hook because the fish in Washington are small. We were always happy if we caught something 'legal' which I think was six inches.

When I first learned to fish, dad would cast it for me. After practicing I got to cast myself. Invariably, right after my father cast his first line, I would have mine tangled in a mess on the reel, or be snagged on the bottom.

I don't recall if my father ever really got to fish those evenings or not. But I know God was teaching him patience.

Soon we would pack up and head home for dinner which mom always had ready. I would look forward to another day of fishing with my father.

- Craig