I started fishing at a very young age, thanks to Dad, and enjoyed introducing my children and grandchildren to fishing. My kids caught buckets of spawning white perch at the inlet to Maranacook Lake, the same place I caught them when I was a kid.
I can still see the kids’ bobbers popping up and down, and Josh and Hilary screaming in tandem, “I got one!” The swift retrieve, little hands winding the Zebco for all its worth. That was real fishing!
At the Maranacook inlet, crowds hugged the shore, a half-dozen bobbers clung to the electric wires overhead, and chaos reigned when the perch were running. It was strictly hook, line, and bobber, with nothing as productive as a succulent garden worm. My role was official wormer, inserting the hooks into those juicy worms.
At the age of 7, Josh was casting well, but 4-year-old Hilary wasn’t quite ready, so I cast for her. But make no mistake – she didn’t need help reeling in those fish. Any offer from me in that regard was swiftly turned aside with a firm, “I can do it myself, Dad!”
As their bucket was nearly full of fish, all of which were flopping around, Hilary asked, “Will you shoot them when we get home, Dad?” I explained that shooting would not be necessary!