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A Father’s Day Gift to both of us….By Jim Zaleski
Stories like these tend to show up from time-to-time and they may or may-not tug at heart strings or jog long forgotten memories, but I would be very very remiss if I didn’t write this down for all those who have shared a morning on the water with a father or son. To set the stage, my father passed away when I ten. He was not much of an outdoorsman, married instead to our family business of the corner tavern where more fish tales were spun than those that were actually caught. After his passing, “Ray” came along to challenge me for the “man of the family” and, of course, I gracefully succeeded as I served as alter boy for my Mom’s (second) wedding. Ray had come to the fishing sport as the consummate “opening week” walleye angler. He and his steel mill buddies had for almost two decades called the small lake known as Black Duck, located just outside of the town of Bemidji in Northern Minnesota, home for that opening week. Only after graduating college did I pass the ritual that allowed me to attend this annual event. Outside of some crappie fishing where the occasional bass “got in the way” Ray had little knowledge of the sport of bass fishing, and as I would come to find out later, neither did I. I guess I would say my bass fishing days began at the side of my stepdad as we shared our mutual Christmas gifts of ultra light rods one spring “pitching” our number six hooks with live night crawlers under docks that would normally be explored with minnows on a crappie quest. The twelve and thirteen inch bass kept us excited and busy, but we both knew there must be something else to this Bass Fishing that was the cover of all the outdoor magazines littering the den and bathroom of our houses. Springs and summers of crappie and walleye would come and go before we would dive into the unknown waters of bass angling, such as an early tourist might uneasily test the cold waters of a pre Memorial Day holiday lake. The first truly bass adventure shared by “Dad” and I, was a completely fogged in morning on Central Missouri’s Lake of the Ozarks. I was working at an outdoor journalist conference and had the opportunity to get “Ray” down for a couple days to try our luck. In the thick morning fog I tied on some traditional top water baits for both of us as we used the silent trolling motor to negotiate the limited sight inside of our prison-like bay. It was almost one and a-half-hours later that I could sense through the wet mist of a morning the impatience that I am sure he had sensed from me countless times before as we trolled endlessly for spring walleye. I can thank only the fishing almighty for the hard hitting Kentucky Bass that blasted the Jitter Bug just inches from the boat as Ray looked at me with the expression of a ten year old that had hooked his first real fighter. From that time on, we would explore more and more watery puzzles trying our luck at what was a mystery to both of us…trophy largemouth bass fishing. Our next adventure would transport us far beyond our walleye beginnings in Northern Minnesota to the Northeastern Woods of New York State. Black Lake served as the unexplored backdrop as we would share a new experience in bringing T.J., his first Grandson and my first nephew, along with us. Although no one kept tract, I would not want to enter my total weight against either Dad or T. J. after that week. Highlighted by a four pound smallmouth, the real catch of my week was introducing my young nephew to the sport while spending even more time with my Dad. Both of which gracefully let me keep my self esteem by failing to beat my big fish of the week mark. It was a couple years later, and only after moving to the deep Midwest, that I thought more and more about missing my partner in the quest for big largemouth bass. Seasons had passed with sharing only telephone conversations of my occasional catches at tournaments and more than often of my disappointment in finishing far down the leader board. Ray often relates if I, “only could get the same fish I catch when I am with him,” I would cash a check every time. Well, that has never stood truer than this most recent father’s day when I served as guide to “Dad” on a lake not far from my current home. Putting my excuses out in the open, I explained that I had only fished this lake a couple times in tournament situations and that I really couldn’t know what we would be finding this morning. He assured me that a morning on the water with his “tournament experienced” son was all that mattered, and “of course I would find the fish” so without saying, I felt oh so relieved. Camouflaging the morning as “exploring” I tied on a couple of green with copper flake, four inch tubes that were so penetrated with homemade garlic scent that Dad exclaimed if they didn't catch fish they would be a great stand-in as seasoning for the steaks that were in our sites for that Father's day dinner. Ignoring this, but quickly fainting a thought to that night’s dinner in response to the morning’s empty stomach, I hurriedly explained I was using some new hooks that I wanted to make sure would allow the tubes to “swim” even as they were deep hooked Texas style. With all my excuses more than adequately explained, we set out in the pre-morning darkness to a minor lake point while I pondered two questions silently. First I was unsure if the new style hooks, with the longer shanks would make the tubes appealing to largemouth and second, if they did, could we get the hook setting power needed to pierce the tubes while achieving a solid hook set? The whole time I wondered in the back of my mind if my dad really thought I had the slightest clue what I was doing. Well, my dilemma on the new style hook, the type of bait I had chosen and at least a dozen other questions would be answered soon in a quick and decisive manner.
It was merely three casts later that I set a solid hook into what was at least the equal of my Dad’s fish. After landing my early morning largemouth my hand grip revealed a much lighter colored fish that was slightly thinner than my Dad’s but a couples inches longer. We couldn’t believe it, two five-pounders in one day. The ladies at home wouldn’t believe us, well not until the film was developed anyway.
A little later in the morning an explosive hit, that we both agree was the biggest fish of the day, pounded my worm in so shallow of water that my line immediately broke around the standing timber just as the fish surfaced to wave goodbye. I can say with no hesitation, no matter the number of fish, the weight limit or the tournament finish, I can always wish everyday was like Father’s Day, when someone special brought his luck with him and shared it with me. Now if I can only "catch-em like I do when I am with Dad." For more information on the lake we shared this special
Father’s Day on, visit the following: http://www.naturalkansas.org/bighill.htm Images by Jim Zalesk, utilizing a Sony Mavica Digital Camera |
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TM
On
his third cast, Dad sent his tube toward a single tree in what is otherwise
a shallow flooded-timber point off of a small outside creek channel swing. A
short pick-up and a stretched line later, all I could do was mutter under my
breath and quietly remind him to keep his tip up prior to landing what was
obviously more than a solid five-pounder.
Completely
aghast at what we had just put in the boat inside ten minutes, I turned back
from the casting deck in almost disbelief when I heard a soft voice letting
me know “I got another one.” This was as nice a fish as the first he had
caught not but a half dozen casts before. The three fish more than tipped
the estimated scale to a whopping fifteen pounds plus in less than a
half-hour. Oh to be in a tournament with the “old man” as my partner. 
After
releasing all three trophies to swim and be caught another day, the
inevitable “what-if” conversation ensued on how much the three would have
brought in prize money at a tournament. Exiting this topic as politely as I
could, I explained I can only imagine starting a tournament day with three
fish of this caliber. Shortly after that the excitement of the early catch
waned and the day moved on with some “smaller” two-pounders being caught.