There’s a handful and a half of people out there who have big fish they like to brag about. Fish they’ve caught; fish they’ve released; and fish they’ve had mounted. 

But what makes some fish special is their lack of uniqueness. While there are those people who count their inches and check off rare species from a bucket list, there is an even bigger group of people who have had just a glimpse of a fishing experience. 

What I’m talking about, of course, is the fundamental introduction to fishing. A bobber and a hook with a worm and a bucket of anxious optimism. Most of us have been lucky enough to experience that as children, whether it was with a father, an uncle or just some cousins or friends. So for those of us who have continued in the hobby and/or lifestyle, we tend to take those first steps for granted as we get drawn into the progression of the skill. 

I was reminded this week of the importance of the simple stuff however, when I went out for an hour with my father and my two boys. We brought only the essentials, fished for only a short while, and made sure to keep things moving. 

One thing my father knows from his profession and lifetime as a hunting and fishing guide is how to keep the experience entertaining. 

We spent only 15 to 20 minutes at three different locations, moving when the boys started to get bored or the fish weren’t biting. Once we found a good spot, we kept the worms a-flowing, baiting hooks as they got taken and unhooking panfish despite the protests of younger fish hoarders. 

It was a sunny day out, and the water was lapping casually along as we drifted just snugly against the pull of the anchor off our bow. There was only a tentative meandering wind that kept the heat at bay without pushing us around or aggravating the water’s surface.

As we concluded our cruise, we took time to circumnavigate the small lake and blow the cobwebs out of the engine. The boys enjoyed this just as much since it added a degree of action to the overall adventure. When we docked, they were quick to show their grandfather how well they could swim. Once released from the boat, however, they toed the water’s edge with more than a little hesitation. Perhaps their imaginations got ahead of their consideration, but the muddy water suddenly in front of them was not the idyllic opportunity to showboat that they had thought it to be whilst still in the safety of the craft.

Nevertheless, they did eventually wade deeper after being shown there were treasures to be found in the sandy shallows. Snail shells, mussel shells and the suspicious-looking rock captured the attention of my young outdoorsmen as they continued to seek grandfatherly approval. 

I think back to the days I spent at the same lake growing up. I would go there with my best friend and swim in the sandy shallows and the deeper water where there was the least risk of brushing my feet and legs upon algae or underwater weeds. We would sit on the dock and wait until the odd bulge in the water’s surface would reveal a mussel rising for air, after which we would race to recover it and add it to a bucket for later release or to be used as bait for fishing.

The way out here we all have a fishing memory, be it a sibling’s or ours. And if by chance you are lacking in this quintessential area, it is this author’s most sincere suggestion that you take your kids to the nearest public lake and find out what you’re missing. We forget what we are so abundantly blessed with and surrounded by, and yet there is still time until these opportunities pass us by.