As an only child of two very active and outdoorsy parents, I was probably a disappointment. Rather than kayaking the Finger Lakes with my mom, I wanted to go to the mall. Instead of training for a bike race with my dad, I went to dance lessons. Fishing, now that was the biggest long shot, except for the yearly family vacations on Lake Champlain.
Every year we got the same house; a family reunion outdoor utopia, between the Green and Adirondack Mountains on the island of North Hero, Vermont. With limited cell service and no cable, the dock and rickety paddle-boat served as our family’s personal waterpark, and fishing poles and some bait were the ultimate ride. The adults got the kids fishing permits, glow-in-the-dark worms, and fancy bobbers to make this simple past-time as fun as possible to my very tech-savvy little cousins who were now completely disconnected and far from the comforts they were used to.
This dock was one of those rare places in the cool, northern lakes where you can cast your line into the water and pull up a fish every minute. However, the first time we had trouble getting a fish off the hook, there was a little blood causing my very young and impressionable cousin, Sally, to erupt in tears. She didn’t want the fish to die, was scared of the blood, and we realized we may have turned her off to the sport forever. It wasn’t until later, when we took little Sally out on the paddle-boat to the middle of the lake, that she realized the possibilities that fishing opened for her. A little spark lit up in her eye. She was the only kid with all the adult’s attention, so far out in the lake that she couldn’t even see the house- now this was cool. She was a big girl. Without thinking, she ripped a worm in half, stuck it on the pole and cast it into the “cotton candy” water, as she named the lake at sunset.
My next fishing trip was in a bit deeper water and across the country. It was my Aunt’s idea to go deep-sea fishing in the rough and frigid waters off the coast of Alaska. The satisfaction of catching a ten-pound halibut quickly dissolved when I watched what happened next. Unlike catch and release, these fish were going to be that night’s dinner, and I hadn’t realized until this point how much blood fish have. I was getting seasick, suddenly craving chicken, and ready to get off the boat and away from the pile of wide-eyed still fish staring at me when I thought of my little cousin, Sally. I remembered her being scared and upset by the sight of the bloody fish, but then so quickly turning around and ripping a worm in half and jamming it through the hook.
It’s taken me some time to learn what little Sally probably knew all along, that fishing isn’t about what is on the other end of the line. Fishing is how my family spends time together and passes something on, not just from father to son, but from mother to daughter and aunt to niece. Whether it was catching those tiny bass in Lake Champlain with my little cousins or a massive halibut while deep-sea fishing in Alaska with my mom, dad and aunt, these trips are no longer something I take for granted. I’ve learned the real thrill is spending time with family, away from everything else, and that even though those fish might be bloody- they sure do taste good!
Jessica Wahl is the Recreation Policy Manager at the Outdoor Industry Association. Previously with the Department of Interior, Jessica managed Youth in the Great Outdoors and First Lady Michelle Obama’s Let’s Move Outside! campaign.
Great story. Such evocative, powerful memories in all of these posts!
I agree! Your story was wonderful as are all the stories that have been posted! All have that one common underlying thread… Family