When I think back on who taught me to fish, it is easy. It was my dad. He didn’t teach me to fly fish, that came later. He did teach me to fish though. I have many, many fond memories of fishing with my dad as a kid. We fished for shad on the Lower Sacramento on Memorial Day. We fished for steelhead on the Klamath on Labor day. We fished for Steelhead on the Elk and other Southern Oregon rivers in the winter (along with the Klamath).
I’d imagine your dad taught you. Odds are fair to good on that regard.
When I look back at my awkward childhood, through the good and the bad, the fishing stands out as solidly in the “good” column. In the arc from there to adulthood fishing has remained a central part of my life and an easy, free-flowing source of conversation between my father and I.
So, thanks dad.
I’m headed up to my home town today to go see my dad, who is in the hospital right now awaiting surgery. No, it’s not those butt implants he always wanted, this is a little more serious and if everything goes well, he’ll be off the water for a long time.
If you still have your teacher, make sure to tell them thanks.