Some of my earliest memories of fishing were with my dad. He loved to fish! On the opening day of spring trout season, we’d head down to the river with a picnic basket packed with baloney sandwiches, a thermos of warm coffee, and a bucket of big fat juicy worms. My mom, dad, and I would leave early to get to the best spot and stand and wait on the river bank with all the other anglers until noon. No one dared dip their line in before then because the Game Warden could give you a ticket. It was like waiting for Christmas. The minutes crept by. Then, it happened! Someone would shout, “It’s noon!” and what fun we had. I would get so excited when dad would let me reel in a fish. Just the sight of a fishing pole still reminds me of my dad. As little girls do, I grew up and took on more girlish hobbies. But what I wouldn’t give to go fishing with my dad again.
