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My Dad

210 FSH

Well-Known Member
So sorry Ed. It's a hard thing to lose your dad (best friend). I lost my dad just over 7 years ago, and how I miss him. We did everything together, and he was truly my best friend. All our time spent together is probably partially to blame for my first marriage failure. But I have such great memories of hunting, fishing, and working with my dad.

I remember fishing with with my dad at Fishlake when he was 80 and he said I just want to catch one more Big Mack before I die (his dad passed at 80). Later that day he said I got one and it’s a good one. He played it for a while and I was getting the net ready. Finally he got it up to the surface where we could see it, and it was a good one (somewhere around 25 pounds). As he pulled it closer to the boat and I reached out with the net, it shook it's head and I saw the hook fly out of its mouth. It rolled over and disappeared into the depths. I turned to dad and said “I guess he’s not ready for you up there yet”. I will never forget that day. He lived another 10 years, and did catch a couple more good Mack, but not one as big as the one that got away.

Another thing that my dad told me that is interestingly true and I think of often is as follows. My dad was very close to his dad, and worked and played with him carpentering, fishing, etc. Being the only son, dad inherited all grandpa’s tools. Dad said he could hardly stand to use those tools because every time he picked one up he remembered his dad and got so sad that he could hardly deal with it. He said that time has a way of healing things, and after some time went by, every time he picked up one of those tools he got a happy feeling when remembering his dad.

I have the same feelings about my dad and his fishing things. I could hardly use any of them without experiencing sadness. Now I am finally getting somewhat over that sadness, and have happy feelings when seeing and fishing with his items. I still miss him almost every day, but those great memories make me happy now.

Ed, remember and treasure those fond memories, they really help heal the sorrow and sadness with time.

Ed, I’m sorry your father passed away ... Bart you too...

Not Yet you bet.. you summed it up quite nicely. I have all my Dads tools and some of his fishing gear. So many times to this day, and it’s been 23 years now that I spread his ashes on the mountains overlooking Otter Creek reservoir, I still see something or have an idea and think for a fleeting moment can’t wait to tell my Da.... oh yeah he’s gone. And now, as you said, I pick up a tool or something and remember him holding it. Just recently I dug into an old box of reels, and there are his two Penn Centinal 4/0 reels and my 1/0. Going to rebuild these 50 year old reels and use them for my down rigger poles...

In time Ed/Bart, as Not Yet You Bet says your thoughts will be happier rather than sad.
Condolences Ed, Bart and all others who have expressed such wonderful memories of their fathers.

Indeed, we are blessed to have had dads that passed on rods, reels and knowledge that turned us into enthusiastic devotees (addicts) of the fishy types. For those who can, don't miss an opportunity to fish with your dad or to take your own children on a fishing trip and create memories that are so very sweet.

When my dad lost the use of his legs, he hadn't lost the desire to wet a line once more. We planned a trip to the Payson Lakes that had a very rough path around the lake shore where I could wheel him to cast a line. As can be seen in the photos he really enjoyed the outing but most of all, he reveled in catching the big fish of the day.

For the next six months before he passed, our daily conversation included that catch and many other great fishing trips and memories.

May you often say, "FISH ON"...and don't pass up the chance to fish on often!


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Active Member
Your posts gave me a lump in my throat. So sad your dad has passed on. My dad used to take us kids on hunting and fishing trips to the lake and rivers in upstate New York to give mom a break. He would have loved Lake Powell. Every time I see a red and black hunting cap or jacket I think of him. He always would put a big bobber on my line. Gramps and Dad would strap on the cane poles to the blue 58 Chevy and off we would go to catch sunfish, perch or bullheads. When he died in 1995, several neighborhood boys who were all grown up by then came by the funeral home to say my dad would take them fishing when we had grown up and moved away or were off to college. The best ice fishing day was catching sunfish two at a time on tipups on Loon Lake with my 18 month old daughter and my dad. We didn't need a Playstation to have fun with dad around.