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Who inspired you to fish? - - - 24 messages. Showing 1 through 10. Go to page: 1   2  3 
Chewoneyes
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Daily Subscription Msg 1 Posted: 01:12 PM 07/24/08 (CST)
I don't know if this was done before. But, its nice to hear what people say.

As the title says who inspired you or who got you fishing?

For me it was my father who got me started fishing. But, for who inspired me to continue fishing was my grandfather on my mothers side. Don't get me wrong my father is no slouch but when it came to grandpa nobody could touch him. He could catch fish outta mud puddle. He was in my mind the greatest fisherman to walk this earth. smile smiley



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fishin49er
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Daily Subscription Msg 2 Posted: 01:19 PM 07/24/08 (CST)
Chew. Thats great about your dad and your grandfather. For me it was my Grandfather and my grandmother. When I was young I used to go to Canada every summer for a couple weeks or Up on the mississippi for a weekend or two. Had a blast. Its kind of ironic but just recently my grandfather gave me all his fishing stuff. His boat, his rods and all his tackle. So my boys and I split it all up. My grandfather has alzheimers and is starting to forget everything so he told me while he can still remember he wanted me to have everything. Thanks for the topic. I look forward to hearing everyones posts.-Rob
MineralMan
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Daily Subscription Msg 3 Posted: 01:30 PM 07/24/08 (CST)
Like a lot of kids, it was my dad. I think I was about six years old. Our family took annual camping trips, and fishing was one of the main activities.

My favorite memory was of me, at about age 8, and my father climbing over a barbed wire fence to fish a little creek he called "Lost Creek" in Southern California, just a few miles from our house. A tiny little creek. We had to sneak up on it to keep from spooking the fish.

It was full of little native rainbow trout, and nobody ever really fished there. The biggest one was about 8" long, but you could catch 'em just as fast as you could drop a hook with an earthworm on it.

As I became a teenager, I remember being bored with fishing. Later on, in my 20's, I took it up again on my own. 40 years later, I'm still doing it.

I asked my dad about "Lost Creek" not long ago. He laughed, and said that it was never lost...it was just too small for most folks to bother with, but it made a good story to tell a 10 year old kid. smile smiley


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sportsnut218
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Daily Subscription Msg 4 Posted: 01:35 PM 07/24/08 (CST)
Grandpa and Grandma.. I was always the third in their boat.. and got the front spot in that 16' Lund. The only trips I didn't get to go on were in the Jonboat they used to go early evening Cat-fishing. What a site for me at 10 years old to see a bathtub full of catfish the next day when I'd go over.

Dad taught me a different type of lesson.. which is why at 33 years old, I've never had a drop of alcohol.



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WebDude
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Daily Subscription Msg 5 Posted: 01:35 PM 07/24/08 (CST)
I fished a bit, but what really got me hooked was almost catching Big Bertha a long time ago when I fished in and around Duluth. I was pretty young at the time, but it has stuck with me forever. A true story...

Hag Creek Story as told by WebDude

In my early 20's, I lived in Duluth and had a job that required I work a split shift. I would go to work at 7 am and work 'til 11 am, then my second shift would start at 6 pm. That was a seven hour break every day. Since I was single at the time, I thought what better way to spend this long lunch break than to go fishing! Especially Minnesota Fishing!

I did not own a boat, so I was rather limited as to where I could go. There was this one spot I found, however, that was accessable by vehicle and pretty much vacated at that time of the day. It was a dirt road that ran between two bays on Island Lake. You could park and fish pretty much anywhere along the road on either side. The only other people that fished out there at that time of day were some of the locals. Being it was less then a half hour from where I lived, I started to spend almost every day there, even weekends as I became more proficient at the art of angling.

Now this was a time in my life when I was pretty green when it came to fishing. I preferred to fish alone because it always took a long time for me to tie a line or bait a hook. I didn't want anyone else to see my lack of experience. It wasn't that I hadn't fished before, just that it was relatively new to me.

Oh I had fished with friends and such as most young kids do, but I rarely caught anything worth mentioning. This new job with the wierd hours made fishing more often a possibility, and the more I went to Hag Creek, the more I started to enjoy the sport.

Along the dirt road was a telephone pole that had wire strung about thirty to forty feet above the ground. Kind of funny because there were hundreds of lures, sinkers, hooks, and line that were caught up in the wire. Must have been pretty bad casters in the neighborhood, I thought, and me not being much better.

I got there around noon one day, and the only other person fishing besides me, was an old farmer that I had seen there before. On the way, I had picked up some new fangled live bait called "Golden Shiners" and I was going to see if they would work on the mid-day Northerns that usually swam around shore and through the current of a bridge that happened across the road. They were expensive, but what the heck.

I got my stuff out of my truck and grabbed the minnow bucket and walked to the edge of the water. I reached in and pulled out a shiner about seven inches long and started to bait my hook.

The old guy, who was about twenty feet down the shoreline, picked up his rod from the "y" stick he had driven into the ground and started to reel in. He looked at the new bait I had and then inspected the big sucker he had dangling from his line.

"What ya got there?" he asked, making an expert and smooth cast out into the lake.

"Golden Shiners," I told him. I had never seen shiners before and I don't think he ever had either. People here usually used suckers or fatheads.

He kept glancing at me out of the corner of his eye while he was fishing, and to tell you the truth, he made me a little nervous. He was much older than I and was obviously much more experienced.

He looked up at the line of the telephone pole that had all the tackle tangled to it and said "Boy, the water sure musta been high that day," and gave a little chuckle. It must have been a local joke but it actually made me feel a bit more comfortable with him. At least there was no critisim of my ability involved. I believe it was his way of trying to start a conversation.

I finished baiting up and threw a cast with line and bobber out into the lake. No sooner had the bobber hit the water, then it disappeared underneath. I thought, oh boy, I am not very good at this. I had obviously rigged my setup all wrong or maybe the shiner had pulled the bobber under. It was a pretty big minnow after all. So I started to reel in to see what the problem was.

"Whatchya got goin' there?", the old guy asked. I was getting ready for him to make some smart remark and tell me I was doing it all wrong.

"I don't know." I replied.

As I was reeling in, there was no drag whatsoever that I could feel. No bottom. No nothing. But where the line disappeared into the water, a large wave was coming in towards us at the shore. I thought this rather odd since there was no wind and the water was like glass.

I kept reeling in and the wave kept getting closer with still no feeling the bottom. When the wave got about twenty feet from shore, all heck broke loose. The wave stopped and suddenly the drag of my reel started to scream. I grabbed my drag setting and tightened it, but I couldn't get the line to stop spooling out.

By the time it took to try to tighten the drag again, it was all over. The line had spooled to the end which had been tied to the reel. The rod was snapped in half with two broke eylets off the tip. And my reel? Well, I swear, the reel was smoking! That wave must of been some huge fish pushing the water around.

The old guy next to me started laughing, slapping his knee. "that musta been Bertha," he said. I was embarrassed and I was sure the guy was laughing at me. Probably the way I was rigged or something.

"Bertha?" I asked, pretty much flustered and eying my busted rod.

"Yeah," he said, "we've been tryin' to catch her for the last couple years. She's a bigin."

"But I had twelve pound test on here," I said holding up my rod and smoldering reel, "How big is that fish?" Maybe the rigging was okay after all, at least I hoped.

"Well," he said, spitting some tobacco into the lake, "I've seen ducks disappear off the surface. Somethin' just draggin' 'em down. I never got a good look at her, but we've been out here tryin' for a long time now to catch her."

I reflected on what he said, then looked at my rod and started getting bummed out because my fishing was over for the day. The old farmer looked at me and grinned, turned and headed for his truck.

"Don't worry," he said. "I got a rod and some line in the truck you can use."

I realized at that point that he wasn't laughing at me at all. It wasn't my inexperience or clumsiness he found humorous. It was just the situation. It was the fact that Bertha had screwed up another fisherman and got away. Something, I had found out later, that had happened to quite a few locals from the area.

In fact, it appeared this was the beginning of a friendship. Maybe it was because we had shared a unique experience together. Maybe it was because it might have happened to him before. Maybe it was because he knew I was rather green. Maybe it was just the fact that we both liked fishing. It didn't really matter anyway. I knew that this was the beginning of some great times on Hag Creek and I would be spending a lot of time out here.

I was grateful as he handed me his spare rod and spool of Stren. I sat down on the edge of the lake and started to put my temporary rod and reel together. The old guy still had a big grin on his face. He picked up his rod out of the "y" stick and wiggled it a little bit and started to reel it in.

"By the way," he said, looking out over the water still kind of looking at me out of the corner of his eye.

"Yeah?" I replied, busily winding on new line.

"You wouldn't happen to mind if I borrowed one of them there shiners, would you?"




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MineralMan
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Daily Subscription Msg 6 Posted: 02:29 PM 07/24/08 (CST)
Good story! Bet you "loaned" him a shiner, too.


MineralMan

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WebDude
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Daily Subscription Msg 7 Posted: 02:43 PM 07/24/08 (CST)
You bet I did!



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Odin
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Daily Subscription Msg 8 Posted: 10:15 PM 07/24/08 (CST)
I think it was less a who than a what. In the early '60s when I was about 5 my parents bought a 78 acre hobby farm north of Iowa City, and it had a 3/4 acre run-off pond my father aerated in winter with an air compressor. He stocked it with pike, bass and bluegill and we spent a lot of time walking the shoreline tossing in crickets, grasshoppers and quickie frogs and watching the fish rise up and suck them down. When the water was clear it was like looking into a giant aquarium where you could see fish swimming around the shallows.

In Spring, it would always overflow around one end of the dam and we put screens in to try to keep some of the fish from washing down to Turkey Creek. We'd go down with buckets after a nighttime rain and pick up little fish out of water-filled cowhoof prints and dump them back in the pond. There'd be huge bull snakes laying in the sun so gorged with fish they couldn't move.

During the summer we'd go down to the creek and catch or seine a buckeful or two of suckers and chubs, then take them back and feed them to the bass and pike. We'd poke a hole in a minnow's lip, tie it to a line and throw it out on a bobber, usually from a small point that dropped off toward the deepest part of the pond, about 17 feet deep. The pike seemed to get trained to wait there and most nights when my father got home, he went down and fed them until they stopped hitting. When the bobber went down, we'd yank back on the pole and the fish would swim off with a meal. Sometimes, a pike would leap up and grab the minnow before it hit the water, landing with a splash or cartwheeling in the air and landing in the mud at our feet. The biggest pike were about 10 lbs and the speed and viciousness of some of the strikes were pretty impressive for a young kid to see. I've been a pike fisherman every since.
walldigger
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Daily Subscription Msg 9 Posted: 04:37 AM 07/25/08 (CST)


For me it was my Grandma. We had a cabin in Merrifield and I would spend the summer up north with Grandma. She had an old green wooden boat (12ft). Every spring I would have to paint and seal the boat for Grandma. I would dig all the worms. I would paddle grandma to our little secret fishing hole and catch huge Sunfish. Being a 10 yr old kid I would have fished the lake out if I could have, but Grandma never let us take more than we could eat for 1 meal. She would always say" you don't want to fish the lake out". Next she taught me how to fillet the Sunnies and than she would fry them up with a big pile of American fries on the wood oven we had. I learned more from this little old lady about fishing and nature than I ever have in any book or magazine.

Chewoneyes thanks for your post. This has brought back memories I haven't thought about in years!
BigBite
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Daily Subscription Msg 10 Posted: 07:57 AM 07/25/08 (CST)
Excellent post, Chewoneyes! I really enjoy reading all of the responses.

I guess for my answer, I would have to say my grandpa, though he has long ago passed away. When I was very young, 4 or 5, I remember him taking me out on the river. He lived in St. Cloud and had a small boat and motor that he used to keep stashed in the woods. I really can't remember much, just going down the river with poles in hand and him with a big smile on his face. In fact, I don't even remember catching a fish, but the memory has stuck with me to this day. The sun out with a nice breeze, the waves lapping against the boat and my grandpa grinning at the tiller. None of my parents ever fished, as far as I know, nor any of my siblings. But it's funny how a trace memory like that can have such a profound affect on someone. I believe that very positive impressions from the past, when we are very young, have influence on us as adults, and as we go through life, we are just trying to recapture those moments.




Who inspired you to fish? - - - 24 messages. Showing 1 through 10. Go to page: 1   2  3 
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