The sound of a swift running stream on a cool spring morning, the breeze gently blowing and the fisherman waiting patiently with anticipation for the first bite of the day. Sometimes I wonder whether there is a more transcendental experience in the world than fishing.

Such experiences can be relaxing. They can be fun. And they can be some of the most memorable times in a person’s life.

As an avid, yet amateur angler, I estimate that most humans rarely achieve this state of nirvana in the fishing world. However, that is all part of the fun. The memories that are made on the way to achieving greatness or achieving nothing at all are priceless.

I can remember some of the first times I went fishing. There was opening morning of fishing season on a small lake in eastern Washington with my Grandpa Ted. As my memories serve me, we always caught gobs of fish. Actually, we didn’t even have to try, as they just jumped into the boat. That may be a stretch, but also part of the art of fishing.

To be a true fisherman, one must be able to “spin good yarn”. I think there’s still a picture hanging on my Grandma’s wall of a crudely drawn (even for a second grader) lake showing exactly where the fish were, each labeled by species.

My drawing was so detailed it even included the “secret spot” often referred to as the honey hole where we damaged the fish population. My Grandpa never seemed to get used to me telling where the hole was and would tease me often. I did just reveal the best fishing spot in the western United States.

As I go on about the good things to come from fishing, I want to make one thing perfectly clear: It’s not all sunshine, lollipops and warm cuddly kittens.

Even the best fisherman knows frustration — snagging a line on a tree, a boat motor that won’t start, dropping a pair of sunglasses in the water just to see them slowly sink into darkness never to be found again.

On certain days I have found it easier to just give up and go home, but I rarely do. As my blood pressure rises with every missed bite or lost lure, I can’t help but think the next cast will change everything and I will have yet another story to tell and picture to take.

This summer I was reunited with friends from my hometown and fishing adventures began almost immediately. For us, it was the summer of improvements. We started with a boat that most would consider unsafe. I knew we were in for trouble when my friend broke out the gasket builder. Our motor was two oars and my friend, a 300-pound football player.

Imagine four people weighing a minimum of 200 pounds each in a leaky 14-foot boat with a maximum capacity of 500 pounds. It must have been quite the sight for any passerby. Adding to the effect of our craziness was my other friend who suddenly grabbed an empty Gatorade bottle and frantically bailed water over the side of the boat.

Nonetheless, the inaugural run of our summer fishing was a success. We boated 30-some fish during the weekend and managed to laugh the entire time even though at times the prospect of drowning seemed imminent.

As our trips became more consistent we found new ways to fix the leaks in the boat and even produced two new motors that we salvaged from a shop near my house. The motors would only run for short periods of time before quitting altogether but all this just added to the fun.
Even if you’re not an expert fisherman, take a six-pack and head on down to the nearest stream, lake or reservoir.

While the lunker might not be waiting to be caught that day, maybe a smaller fish will, and that might just be good enough for a person to feel that uncommon transcendence. Just remember, if the big one does get away, there is always a bigger one waiting on the other side of the pond.

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