A television commercial for bargain seafood brought back fond memories of the time Dad and I went fishing on the Black River in Lacrosse, Wisconsin.
Shortly after Christmas 1965, my parents moved the family from the suburbs of Lacrosse to a neighboring rural community. Our new home, on a hill just yards from the Black River, gave Dad direct access to what he loved most: the water. Dad could fish whenever he wanted, and he did so often.
Although I was never fascinated by fishing (sorry), I enjoyed sitting in a boat on the murky Black River with Dad on a hot, lazy Saturday afternoon. That was our special time, a moment spent joking, drinking Coke (the soft drink) and, of course, catching fish.
Dad could sit in the same spot for an hour waiting for the fish to bite before looking elsewhere. But it was different for me. If the fish didn’t bite within five minutes, I would pull anchor and look elsewhere. This was because I wasn’t giving the fish a chance to take the bait because I had reeled in my line immediately after casting.
“Dad, the fish aren’t biting here! Can we PLEASE go somewhere else?” I begged. Instead, Dad encouraged me to be patient.
“Did you know that your grandpa Dagendesh could sit in the same spot for eight hours?” Dad asked, bursting my sportsmanship bubble. “Eight hours? Even eternity isn’t that long,” I replied. Dad laughed. “Be patient and you’ll have a fantastic time,” he said. I frowned. “Sorry, I thought that would make you laugh,” he said, laughing.
My father once asked me if I wasn’t sorry that he spent more time fishing with my younger brother Mike, who shared my father’s passion from a young age. I wasn’t upset, as I had my own interests (writing, music) that kept me entertained. However, I did wonder why I was so strange, so different from most boys and their fathers.
Dad convinced me that I wasn’t weird, just that I was drawn to the creative arts, and he encouraged me to explore and nurture those skills. “One day you’ll do things for others and I hope I’ll be around to see that. Anything is possible,” Dad said, smiling at his pun.
As I grew up, I developed more patience and learned to appreciate fishing. Occasionally, my dad and I would take my two sons to a nearby stream to try their luck. Both boys got a bite, that’s all. Still, it was our time, a moment when my dad and I would relive our father-son fishing adventures and share those adventures with my boys.
Years later, I took my wife Peggy to a popular fishing spot in Pueblo. Unfortunately, we didn’t catch anything that day (except for a few quips about bluegill fishing), although I did enjoy teaching Peggy everything Dad had taught me. I don’t fish for compliments, I just don’t want to be blamed for not sharing my knowledge with my wife – which I did.
Come on, those one-liners were funny and you know it!
When writing this column, I hoped to draw readers in with a lot of witty punch lines, but I didn’t succeed. So much for Fishing 101. If anyone has a good fishing story they’d like to share, please let me know.
William J. Dagendesh is an author, writer, and retired U.S. Navy chief photojournalist, editor, and public relations officer. He and his wife, Peggy, have lived in Southern Colorado for 24 years. Contact William with comments or ideas for his column at nutmeg12039.
