Blast from the past #1: My Grandfather

Though my interest in angling waned throughout my undergraduate studies, it has been rekindled in the past few years. The timing of this revival seems arbitrary, but there are several reasons for it.  First, I’ve had, and continue to have, recurring dreams about fishing- and so there is a certain spiritual element to this renaissance.  Recognizing the incessant nature of these dreams, I began reading a good deal about angling on internet columns and in various books, and, more importantly, started putting in the effort to get myself out onto the water.  As my time spent fishing increased, so too did my passion for the sport.  

But it was my grandfather who originally instilled in me a love of fishing, and for that I will be eternally grateful.  Though he was a good angler, I seem to remember his mishaps more than his catches.  I have at least one distinct memory of him going to the hospital to have a barbed hook removed from his hand, and if I asked my dad I’m sure we could conjure up a few more.  But these accidents did not deter him.  In fact, fishing and hardships had been intertwined in his life for quite some time.  Take, for example, this passage from his autobiography, in which he describes his childhood:

“[He] loved catching fish.  Absorbed by this activity, he forgot about the time, often coming home later than he should have- after five or six in the evening- and for that he’d receive a few lashes to the behind from his father.”

The old adage “no pain, no gain” comes to mind- whether it was a hook in the hand or a lash to the behind, nothing would stop my grandfather from throwing a bait into the water.  He often joined me and my father on our fishing trips, and more often than not it was he who bought me the gear I needed (some of which I still use today).  The love of fishing which he instilled in me is but one of his many legacies.  For me, it is by far the most important one.

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