Learning to Love Fishing

At this time of the year, I am often asked by people “Do you hunt?” My answer to this question is always “No”. Maybe it should be “Yes”.

I went hunting twice. Once with a friend from college I walked the fields of Nebraska hunting for quail. I might add that I was not carrying a weapon, so I was more like the retriever. The second time was with my brother-in-law hunting for pheasants. I might add on this trip I was carrying a shotgun. I think I fired it 2 or three times, and never at a pheasant. My brother-in-law did manage to kill a rabbit which I can almost guarantee was never eaten once it hit the freezer.

So, do I hunt? I guess my answer is “No”. Then the question comes to my head, why?

I love the outdoors, and I would probably be a pretty good shot with some practice. So, why do I not hunt? I guess I will blame it on my father. He did not hunt as an adult, at least not that I ever knew. My siblings may know different, but they will have to answer that question. He did hunt as a child with his father, of which I occasionally heard stories. Coon dog, wild boar, no vet, you can figure out from there. I guess any hunting he did, did not carry down to me.

Did I miss anything by not being a hunter? I will probably never know.

I do know that my dad did teach me to fish. He gave me the bug early. He spent hours rowing me around the lake in the pictures below. Fishing for crappies, sunfish, or anything else that would bite. Some of you may not recognize the lake, but I had some of my best times fishing there. The Sea Girt Inn is gone, but in my memory I can still hear the squeak of the oars, and my father saying “Only one more cast then we have to go.”

Thanks Dad for that “last cast”.