How I Caught My First Fish

I can report that now at the age of 47 I have caught my first fish. 

Not that I have not tried in the past or watched others around me pull in their prizes from the water.  What many had achieved by the time they owned their first baseball mitt eluded me until this past week.  But what took me longer to pull out of the water was made up for in the delight in how it happened.  The fact I released the fish as soon as it was out and a picture was snapped does not dull the story for me in the slightest.

I thought back last week to the time, now some ten years ago, when my nephews Darrin Pfaff and Quincy Pfaff of Coloma cast their lines alongside on a free fishing weekend in Wisconsin.  At Devils Lake the pair stood by me as we waited for the fish to bite.  I recall that my mom had said to the kids as we all ventured to the lake “now don’t you go and fall in”.  I remarked, “Heavens No- that will just scare the fish.”  Darrin laughed.  Mom and lake water were never allies.  I recall more admonitions from mom about drowning and hitting deer while driving than any other topic. (My dad was always concerned about us kids cutting a foot or finger off in the lawn mover.)  Who knows maybe all that advice paid off as I type with all my fingers tonight and have never gasped for air underwater. 

Within a few minutes of fishing Darrin’s line pulled and he reeled up a small type of pan fish.  I recall thinking at the time that after several years of off-and-on attempts to fish I had never caught anything.  But here on his first effort my young nephew pulls in a fish with no effort at all.  That memory is a good one, and has rolled around in my head for days.

Last week prior to James and I heading up to the Turtle River near Mercer my ‘brother-in-law’ Todd called and asked if we were taking any poles along to fish.  I told him that I no longer had a pole, we had no license, and I guess I no longer had any real interest.  In fact I had not thought of fishing for many years.    Todd spoke of recently helping his wife to better understand the ways to cast and fish in preparation for a trip they have planned on a friends large boat in Georgia.  After the phone call was over I forgot all about fishing or even fish until we reached The Lake of the Falls Dam just outside Mercer.

We were hiking the area when James looked down in the water and noticed literally hundreds of fish swarming in the rocky areas.  They were trying to get up over the rocks.  In seconds we knew that we were seeing a ritual of spring as the fish were going up the river to spawn.  In the middle of the picture below you can see one of the fish in the center splashing its way up the rock, and the next picture shows the multitudes in the water.  (For those getting ahead of my writing let me state we did not keep the fish as that would have been illegal.)

It was at this point that thought I would get out on the rocks and  plunge my hand into the water.  It took a minute as the slippery flopping fish are not easy to grab.  But I finally got one. 

After just enough time for a picture and a smile (this was a real hoot) I placed the fish back in the water.  It was only afterwards that we said the least I could have done was to place the fish above the rocks it was trying to get over!  James and I also found a few fish that were trapped behind rocks in water, and would never have found a way out so we lifted them up and got them into the main body of the fast-moving river. 

I suspect the fish was about two pounds, but there were some that were moving upstream that were easily double that size.  And to be honest I have no idea what type of fish I am even holding.  The next day we visited the area again and the spring event was over.  There was not a fish to be seen.  We remarked that this spawning event was something that was really special to witness, and we felt fortunate to be in the right spot at the right time.

Later that night as we sat and drank hot tea as the Northwoods chill moved in after the sunset I was still grinning.  I remarked to James that this was one of those times I wish I could tell my mom about the adventure.  She would have listened and commented, “You did WHAT in that old river water?”   

But I didn’t fall in!

Last, but not least a special note.  None of this would have been possible had it not been for our friends who allowed us to use their cabin.  The number of fond memories that have been created by their generosity are ones that will always remain with us.