The webs stretched everywhere in the boat shed, like a low-morning fog, they floated in every corner, across every opening, draped across every boat. The little engineers crouched in the centers and in corners ready to add to their collection of dangling mosquito corpses. I was pretty reticent to get anywhere near the webs. The place stunk, like a porta-potty, but with a fishy kind of odor. This was going to be my first, real fishing trip and although it was over 30 years ago, I remember it like yesterday. Up to that point I had only dropped a line in a trout tank at the annual Mid-South Boat Show. This; however, was a new world and I didn’t know if I was up to it.
Dad walked down from the lake’s office with one hand clutching two long sticks, that looked like tree limbs and the other holding a contraption that had a fan attached to one end. I would soon learn that the little thing was a trolling motor and as it hummed, our boat would glide along in the water. He then grabbed a big heavy block and a small round paper box. He piled all the stuff on the dock and then stepped over into one of the boats. Item by item he loaded and placed in particular spots. Then he grabbed something that looked like orange pillows connected by strings and fit it over my head. He called it a life vest and told me I had to keep it on the entire time. I cringed at first because the pillows had been touching the webs.
He told me to step in the boat. I was scared but I didn’t want him to know that I didn’t want anywhere near the spiders and webs that he seemed to nonchalantly wave away and crash through. I set foot on the metal front step and grabbed everything below me because the world beneath my feet no longer held steady. I moved, it moved, and I plopped down quick. He shoved off and we floated out of the slip and into the lake. The water plinked and gurgled under the metal floor of the boat. A new world floated around me: water, trees, logs. Dad turned the boat and headed down the lake to a spot he fished years ago.
As we cruised he told me to turn around and smile as he snapped a picture, then we turned in a shadowed cove.
He unwrapped the line from the long cane poles, slipped on corks, tied on a hook, and bit a small piece of lead on a spot just above the hook. Then he reached in the carton and pulled out a squiggly, muddy worm, and threaded it on the hook, wrapping it all around.
“Now, son, you just swing the line out and let it plop right next to a log or stump, not out in the middle. Watch the cork, when it goes under, lift up gently.”
I tried to do as he told but it wasn’t as easy to control that line as it looked and I found myself wrapping it over the branches above.
“Now, fish don’t live up in trees,” he giggled. Then he handed me his pole while he fixed the one I messed up, “Good fisherman get tangled cause they’re fishing where the fish are,” he followed with encouragement.
That was Dad’s way. He’d hand me his pole and fix whatever problem I created while offering advice on how to improve. Sometimes, I’d sense his frustration, but rarely, if ever, would he turn it into confrontation.
Yet, frustration dissipated as soon as that cork went under. I lifted just as he said and the pole doubled and wiggled all around as the fish fought on the other end. In my excitement I yanked and the bream flew up into the air and over the other side of the boat and banged against the hull. After a few more swings, Dad was able to catch the fish and take him off the line. He even turned the bottom of the fish around as it squirted, trying to get me. He had me touch the fish as he held it, showed me the pressure points that would make them go still, and then he took it off the hook and put it in the cooler. He re-baited my hook and the fun started all over again.
That evening, when we returned home, Dad took me in the back yard and made me watch him clean the fish. He grabbed a spoon and a sharp knife and removed the scales by scraping from the tailfin to the head with the spoon. Then he removed the head and then the entrails and placed the fish in cold water. It was a lot of work but Dad was not going to waste a life. After the cleaning, he shook the fish in a bag of cornmeal and dropped them in hot oil and then showed me how to de-bone the tasty, hot morsels. I was a little scared of eating them at first, probably the shock of seeing them die just a little while before, but my pride in having caught dinner overcame the fear and I enjoyed the light, flaky-white meat.
It was an experience like no other in my life up to that time. It was so fun and I saw so much success that I was, pardon the pun, hooked. I couldn’t wait till the next trip and to my excitement, we went back the next week and then the next. Eventually Dad bought a boat and we fished every Wednesday in the summer at lakes all over until school started back—it was our summer activity for the next 10 years.
If you want to make your kid’s first experience in the wild to be a long hike, lace up those boots. If you want to take them camping, grab that tent and the smores stuff and have at it. If you want that first opportunity and learning lesson to be on a hunt, then find that spot, get in early, and have a sit. Ultimately, you are introducing your kid to the outdoors, so it’s a great thing no matter what you do. However, since it is their first time and you want them to have the most exciting, activity-filled event as possible, fishing, especially fishing for panfish, I believe, nets the greatest results.
Talk to the majority of fishermen all over the United States and most of them, when they reminisce about their first fish, will describe fishing with a bobber and a worm baited hook for panfish. Some of us still love fishing for these all-American swimmers because they not only taste wonderful, but they are tons of fun to catch and there are plenty of them. Panfish are aggressive and populate most lakes and ponds in the United States. They are voracious eaters and have little fear of humans, often swimming right up to the water’s edge. They love to hang around logs, stumps, and tree trunks and they’ll eat nearly anything from worms to crickets to wads of white bread and hunks of American cheese. They’re called panfish because they very obviously fit in a frying pan.
All you need to do is buy a basic Zebco rod or a couple of panfish poles, tie on a line, slip on a cork, crimp on a small split shot weight, and tie on a hook. Then take an earthworm or red worm and thread it on, making sure the hook doesn’t show. Move the cork on the line to make sure the bait sits deep enough, but not too deep (the cork will lay over on its side when this happens). Swing the line out near some kind of structure and wait. Panfish will peck at the bait, which will make the cork jump. Stay patient and resist the temptation to yank until the cork goes under and stays. Lift gently and you’ll feel the little rascal wiggle and swim. Once you get the fish on the dock or ground take your thumb and index finger and pinch on the sides of the fish right at those natural dots. The fish will settle and you’ll be able to work the hook out. If the fish is about the size of a man’s hand or larger, then it’s a keeper. Throw it in a water-filled, iced cooler, re-bait, and throw it back out.
You may find that fishing is your forte, that you love it, or maybe you’ve loved fishing for years, but remember the goal of this trip is about your kids. You want them to love the outdoors. They will tangle lines, you will tangle lines. They will wrap it in branches and you’ll wonder how the hell it got so messed up (I’ve fished for 30 years I still get some real major tangles). It is normal, especially for kids who’ve never done it. Be patient with their mistakes. Hand them your pole when theirs gets tangled or when they catch a fish and you are pulling it off. It will keep them catching and excited. The most important thing is you don’t want them to think you aren’t enjoying this time or they are disappointing you or they will never want to return. Also, don’t make the mistake of having them toss their bait in the middle of the water where nothing swims while you hit the hot spots either. It is not about you on this trip. Schedule one of those trips another time of the month. This is about them, so as they fish and you feel one on your line, ask them to hold your pole for a second. They’ll get the surprise of their life.
Finally, don’t make this fish the only time you hit the outdoors for the year. Schedule a regular time with your kid. We do “Fishing Fridays” in the summer where we try to go at least every other week to a nearby pond or lake. My daughter grabs her pink Barbie fishing rod and reels in those fish as fast as they can get on the line.
If you want to teach your kids about life in and among the outdoors, they need to look forward to the classroom. I know I loved going to that school.
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