The Lure of Fishing

“Mom, will you write a story about fishing this week?” asked my son as we were sitting at the dinner table earlier in the week. “What made you ask that? I asked him. “Well, you like to write about nature, and fishing is a ‘naturey’ thing.” he replied. I smiled and said “You’ve got that right. I really like your idea! Fishing it is.” After all, we were planning on heading to the cabin in a few days – the place where I learned to fish when I was a little girl. The perfect spot to get me in the fishing frame-of-mind.

Cabin

As soon as we arrived at the cabin this evening, my family piled onto the old pontoon. My husband pushed the pontoon away from the dock, my daughter scooted onto my lap, settling in to drive the pontoon to our favorite fishing spot, and my son was busy setting up his line already. While my daughter steered the boat out of Cabin Bay (an endearing name given by my children), she commented on the shoreline just four doors down from our cabin “Look at their perfect shoreline! They have a tree hanging over the water which is perfect for bass.” That’s my little fishergirl.

Tonight I’ve decided that I’m not going to fish. Instead, I’m going to start this fishing story that my son has requested – a story that I’m excited to write as fishing has been an important part of my family for many generations. In fact, my great-great-grandparents depended on fish to help sustain them, as they were farmers that were the second generation removed from Sweden, and had very little money.

In the words of my great-grandfather:

In the early spring before the ice was off the lake, we put our long gill nets in. We had two, I think. They were 30 feet long which gave us 60 feet of gill nets. My father and I would walk down to the lake about four in the afternoon, row out to the edge of the ice, and row slowly along the edge as the net was laid out. Sometimes we had fish to bring home with us at once. The next morning we picked off all the fish in the nets, sometimes as much as half a gunnysack full. It was always a cold job, but rewarding. These fish, mostly northern and sunfish, were all delicious coming from the ice cold water. I loved to walk along the shore wearing knee boots and shoot fish. If I shot above the water the concussion would stun the fish and they would turn up and be picked up. We shot two one day, one weighed 19 ½ pounds – another 14 pounds. This was illegal, but the game warden never bothered anyone till after World War I, when they tightened up on us. After that, we never put out the nets, but I continued to shoot fish. This was only possible when the fish were spawning and swimming in the meadows at high water. They would lay their eggs in the low meadows then go back to the deep lake, but I shot lots of big fish in season.

Fishing wasn’t isolated to early spring. My great-grandfather continued:

Victor Erickson and I would also spear fish in the night late in the fall. Using a gasoline torch, we could see the bottom of the lake and easily spear any fish that showed; one man rowing the boat backwards, the other standing at the stern where the light was with the spear ready to stab.

Back In The Day

Gone are the days of using nets and spears for fishing in my family. Our typical outing requires a rod with hook and bobber, and a tin of wax worms, a container of leeches, or a bucket of night crawlers that the kids collect after the sun goes down. Growing up, my parents or grandparents would take the children out in the old Lund or Alumacraft boats, and we would drop a line somewhere along the shore of the cabin lake. Sunfish, crappies, perch, northern, walleye, and largemouth bass were the typical species that were pulled out of the water, but dogfish, sheephead, bullhead, and carp would surprise us on occasion.

I remember the excitement of seeing the bobber go down, the competitions my family used to have to see who could get the biggest or most fish, and watching wildlife as the sun went down in the evening (although, back then I didn’t realize the importance of this). As we sit on the pontoon, I ask the kids what makes fishing fun for them. My daughter simply says “I like to catch the fish.” My son replies “I like to watch the bobber start to go under, and I love not knowing if the fish is big or small, or what type of fish it is.” Neither of them commented on the wildlife around them, but my daughter admired the beautiful sunset, and my son was watching birds fly about. Immersed in their surroundings.

The Fishing Experience

As I look around me I see the sugar maples starting to turn hues of yellow, orange, and red on this late-September day. Majestic white pines are sparse among the maple trees, but they tower over all others – dark green with soft, long needles. Wild rice along the shoreline has started to turn autumn brown, but the arrowhead plants are still a bright green. The day has been unusually warm, gracing us with temperatures in the mid-80’s. A light breeze blows from the south – warm for the most part, but cool when the gusts lift off the cold water.  The dog is lying in her favorite spot on the front deck of the pontoon. My husband and children are quiet – entranced by casting, waiting, reeling, and casting again. Wood ducks startle and fly out of nearby cattails, a sharp-shinned hawk flies overhead, and the rough squawking of blue herons fills our ears.

As the sun goes down, a beautiful red sunset floods the lake with a warm pink light. The boat lights go on after we can no longer see the bobbers in the dark of the night. As we start our journey back to the cabin. We hear the “whoo-whoo-who-whooooo” of a great-horned owl, we feel insects hit our face as the pontoon smoothly transports us through the ink-black waters, and our skin is prickled with chills as the sun is no longer here to warm us.

There were no fish kept tonight, as we were not in need of fish to nourish us on this night, unlike my ancestors. However, the thrill of catching fish, the enjoyment of being immersed in nature, and the time spent with loved ones are integral parts of the fishing experience that haven’t changed from generation-to-generation. Just as my great-grandfather “… loved to walk along the shore in knee boots and shoot fish” with his father, we love sitting in the old pontoon together as a family, observing the natural world around us while we wait for the thrill of reeling in the mystery fish on the end of our line. This is the lure of fishing.

 

“Many men go fishing all of their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after.”
-Henry David Thoreau