Over The Edge

Do the world a favor - take a kid fishing

Childhood memories are a funny thing. Several times my dad has corrected me as I told some story about my earliest fishing adventures, or added a part that had escaped my memory but was really the best part of the story. Perhaps it’s just that poor memory that we anglers seem to possess. Fish always get bigger after they are released.

I’ve had more than one of those adult moments when I told myself: “Man, I wish I could catch fish today like when I was 8 years old.” That’s of course a silly thought. I think maybe the reason for this sort of distorted recall is due to the fact that back in those days each and every fish meant so much. I can still picture individual catches from those days. I remember the bass I caught on a fly rod on one of our yearly vacations to Texas’ Sam Rayburn Reservoir. As I marched with my trophy past a small bait shop, the guys came out and seemed astonished that this little kid even owned a fly rod, and much more that he had caught a nice bass on it. I remember baiting my hook with a small crab because I could catch no other bait, believing it a total waste of time. The big redfish that gobbled it up immediately opened up a whole new world; I caught a lot of redfish on crabs after that.

Some of the images of those earliest fishing trips are still as vivid in the retina of my recollection as if they had happened yesterday. It’s easy for me to go back to a very early time, following my dad and his work buddies down a muddy trail through the woods that ended at a muddy cove. When asked how fishing was, an old black man sitting on a paint bucket lifted a stringer full of crappie to show us, but stated that he had caught them all much earlier. I believe that is part of why I grew to be such an early riser.

Recently, as I put together a collection of the various things I had written over the years, it was necessary to provide a brief forward for background to the book. It forced me to recollect my history in the outdoors. After pondering this for a few days, I started it simply: “I was one of the lucky ones.”

Thinking about this today, it’s hard not to look around and wonder about the young people of today. How many of them are blessed with the same fortune?

Of course there are a lot. Many parents get it. At Bass Edge we hear from single moms who want to learn how to fish so that they can introduce their kiddoes to the outdoors. There are fine programs like Greenwings, Jakes, scouts and others that serve this purpose. But for an enormous amount of children, there will never be an introduction to the outdoors. Urban living is a culprit, and of course there is competition from cable TV and video games.

This is not only a shame for these individuals, but it could likely have consequences for all of us. There is no doubt that the love of nature instilled at an early age has driven my adult passion for things like water quality and other environmental issues. It strikes me that there is no better way to protect our natural world than to plant into future generations a personal passion for its survival.

Sorry about the soap box. Maybe it’s just age. Kathy and I did eat supper at 4:30 the other day.

There has been an increased discussion of national service with recent changes in the nation’s political climate. Few would denounce such a noble call. I would suggest to all of us “lucky ones” that it would be of great service to the country and the world to see that more youngsters are exposed to the wonders with which we grew up. Take the kid on the block fishing who otherwise wouldn’t get to go.

And to those who hold the philanthropic purse, I would urge an examination of the value of helping those inner-city kids have a chance to discover the wonder of the outdoors. The old saying that it will keep them out of trouble holds much truth. None of my old fishing buddies ever held up a convenience store or perpetrated a massive stock fraud.

There, that ought to do it. Now we just need to get the rest of the world to take their kids fishing.