As I stroll down memory lane, one particular summer stands out vividly – the year 1975. A time when life moved at a gentler pace, and adventures were measured not by the miles traveled, but by the bonds forged. It was during this time that my dad and I embarked on a series of fishing trips that have left an indelible mark on my heart. Let me share the cherished moments we spent fishing together.
Nestled away in a tranquil corner, not too far from the "hustle and bustle" of the small town of Philipsburg New Jersey, was our chosen fishing spot on the Delaware River called “The Rock.”
In those days, fishing was a patient art, not a hurried pursuit. Dad and I would spend the night before gathering our fishing gear – rods, lures, and live bait which we kept in the cellar firdge.
Our fishing ritual began at 5:30am before dawn. Our first stop was at "The Key City Diner" for a quick breakfast and a cup of coffee.
We then drove down to the river, passing behind Phillipsburg High School which I would later attend. The car did not have AC, so we would have the windows down. As we got closer, you could hear the roar of the river and felt the air begin to get cooler.
We parked the car on the side of the road and began our short hike down a windy path in the dark usually stumbling along the way, finally reaching our spot. I could hardly wait to get my line out in the water to catch the first fish. Although I had a large selection of K-mart lures, the best bait was always live hellgrammites. These things were scarey and had large pinchers. I would often get nervous pulling them out of the container and usually drop a few in the process which would aggravate dad as he paid a premium to get them. It wasn't too far long before I had to buy my own...
As the lines were cast into the water, a sense of tranquility settled over us. The moments of silence were never awkward; they were spaces for unspoken conversations between me and dad.
The thrill of a tug on the line, the battle of wills between angler and fish, created a unique connection between us.
Fishing was about more than just catching fish; it was a masterclass in patience, resilience, and appreciation for the natural world. The hours spent waiting for a bite taught me that good things come to those who wait – a lesson I carry with me to this day. And when the catch did come, it was a reminder that effort and persistence bear fruit.
As I recall those days spent fishing with my dad, I realize that the memories we created together are the true treasures. The lessons learned, the stories shared, and the bond strengthened during those lazy summer days have shaped who I am today. In a world that moves faster than ever, I find solace in revisiting those moments – a time when the simple act of casting a line became a canvas for the most profound connections.
Comments