Thanks to......and how it started.

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Littlesaltwash

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I don’t remember seeing a thread like this on WW before but thought it might make for fun winter reading to hear others’ stories. While I had tackle strewn all over the living and dining room the other day trying to figure out what to do with it all, I thought back to how I got into this predicament. My folks and extended family didn’t fish at all when I was growing up. An old man at our church conspired with my mom and dad and a fishing trip was planned. Clarence had two ponds on his farm, aptly named The Big Pond and The Little Pond. After church one Sunday I went home with Clarence and Miriam to be introduced to fishing. We went up to The Little Pond where the bluegills were always willing to cooperate. I was hooked! Clarence and Miriam didn’t have any kids and I must have been just the distraction they needed thank goodness. I was able to go with Clarence for years while I was little. It evolved into me burning up the roads on my bike fishing the creeks and farm ponds within miles fishing with rooster tails, Mepps spinners, and Rapalas. (One story highlighting a different time and place because I can’t imagine it happening today.) By the time I was in high school I was a died in the wool wanna be bass fisherman. My fishing buddy, a kid one year older than me, and I got permission to go south by ourselves to Watts Bar in Tennessee on an Easter Break for some bass and crappie fishing. We arrived at a lake landing late at night and went to sleep in the car waiting for daylight. We were awakened early the next morning by commotion right outside of the car. There must have been 50 people within 20 or 30 feet from us attending an Easter Sunrise Service there at the edge of the lake. The thought never crossed our minds of getting out of the car and interrupting them. We stayed there inside the car, must have been days, waiting for the service to end. The only sound breaking the the sunrise was the sermon and hymms. All was quiet until the last hymn was sung and the final amen. Seconds after, the roar of starting outboards broke the tranquility of the morning as (must of been ten) boats headed out for fishing. Anyway.......thanks, Clarence and Miriam, for taking me fishing. Picture; Pike Lake, southern Ohio, June, 1958 (I still am a fashion icon)
 

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I fished a local pond and salt creek which runs through our town and right next to our work place. We caught rainbows and browns. My dad did not fish, he taught me how to hunt and we raised horses so much of my life revolved around them. But fishing was on my own until I started running with greyhackle in my teens. He took me to many exotic trout streams in Utah, at least they were exotic to me! He taught me how to troll and we started fishing for Mack with hand paddles and copper line in the middle 70’s. Then came Powell, Alaska, Lee’s ferry and many other great adventures. We went our own way through much of life but have always been friends and competitors in business until recently. We have rekindled those old fishing years this last couple of years and have had some really good trips together. I owe most of the way I think about fishing and how I fish in many ways to him. I guess now I know why my wife gives him so much crap in a fun way because it’s all his fault! 😄 Take a kid fishing and it will change their life for good in a good way in my opinion. Great thread little salt wash.
 
Thank's to my Dad and my Uncle. I've been fishing for as long as I can remember in Kentucky. We fished strip pit's, pond's, lake's and big river's below Ky and Barkley dam's. My dad would take me Bluegill fishing all the time and there was no limit on them, we would catch three basket's full a day when we were camping at Ballard county refuge. And he was all way's a Bass fisherman, we would get there an hour or so before dark and fish untill 2 or 3 in the morning. He was a Gitterbug Man and I can still hear it now as I wright this. Man a 6 lb bass could attack a Gitterbug.
Then he started fishing catfish in pay lake's and below the dam's in the current. That was fun because you knew there were monster's in there. And we all so snagged below the dam. You had a big open faced Ocean city or Penn reel with 100 lb mono and a bamboo rod with a rubber ball on the end and you would cast out up against the dam and put the ball into your stomach and start jerking. It was work, but man was it fun when you got a good one. My dad's best friend got a 14 alt treble hook jerked all the way through his hand one trip. And when he went to the Dr. to get it out, the Dr had three door's full of hook's he had taken out of people. I saw the article in field and stream about this Dr and all the hook's he had removed from people year's later.
My uncle all ways had time to take me all so, and he loved bass fishing. He would fish a lot of water shed lake's that were pretty big and he would wade them and fish all the way around them. He caught more 6 lb Largemouth's wading then most guy's back there ever caught from a boat. And My uncle JImmy and I were frog hunter's all so. We gigged a lot of big Bull frog's back then. My Mom loved them and would have frog leg fry's often.
My Uncle all so got us in to Hogging or tickle and noodling as it is called in the proclamation. But we called it Hogging. We would get in the bank's and we used aluminum pole's with a 12 to 14 alt treble hook and get those big Flathead's out of the hole's, we done all natural hole's, and some time would get two from a hole and go back a few day's later and get one or two more that had moved in to that hole. 58 lb was the biggest we ever got, but took literally ton's of 40 to 48 lb Flathead's over the year's. It was all about the adrenaline when you stuck that pole in the hole and felt a mad 40lb Flathead attack like a pit bull, it was a blast. My only problem was,once I knew there was a fish in the hole, I would not leave until he was on the stringer.
Thank's Dad and Uncle JImmy, you guy's hooked me on fishing for life.
And thank's Littlesaltwash for getting this started and bringing back these memory's to share.
 
Not sure who is responsible, if I could remember I’d thank them if they’re still around. Memories of my brothers and I riding bikes 10 15 miles to a new unknown pond (CT), I was probably 6 or so. I even remember a few individual catches on the old Zebco 33 before I was old enough to get a paper route and make enough to buy some “real “ tackle at Western Auto. Salt water caught me later on, never lived far from the ocean till I retired to central AZ, But I knew Powell was here, when my friends all told me I’d never make it without the ocean I’d say “Lake Powell, look it up “. Only made a couple of trips a year so far, but it feeds my habit. After a disappointing 2020 I’ve learned that I have to make it happen. Yeah, I’ve done a couple of trips to Mohave, shows promise with beach camping and good fishing, but Powell is the place as far as I’m concerned, we may never get multiple 45 # fish, but I guess we can 1609456187955.jpeg
 

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We use to snag spoon bills in the Rock River. Still have the setup, maybe it looks familiar. View attachment 11206
My dad would make his out of bamboo, they did'nt have give like a fiberglass pole, and they would take a good size rubber ball and cut a hole in it and tape the heck out of it to the end so the pole did'nt hurt so bad in your gut. But we had these type all so. We used 12 oz to a pound sinker's, according to how much water they were running. We caught a lot of spoonbill to.
 
Muley
Were they caught in the ocean? That's a good woman that will pack them bad boy's, did she clean them to 👍
Yep, loves fishing and catching, but doesn’t much care for eating them. The exception striper stuffed with crab meat/cream cheese/ritz cracker stuffing, carried over from Kamloops when I was in Idaho. Here’s the “ just take the damn picture “ shot while she held up 80+ pounds of striper. Salt water for sure, we got 5 that day over 40. Cape Cod, and we were younger 1609462441590.jpeg
 
My parents got me started fishing in the spring of 1957 when I was four. We had just moved to Salem, MO as Dad, a geologist for a lead mining company, was sent there to do exploration and geological mapping which eventually led to the discovery of a huge lead and zinc deposit. Within a short drive of Salem were famous float streams such as Current River, Jack's Fork, Big Piney River, Meremac River and a myriad of smaller creeks. In fact, when Dad was tromping through the woods doing his mapping he found several smaller creeks that were loaded with nice smallmouth. I remember fondly fishing in some of those creeks as well as those 13-plus hour float trips on the Big Piney in home made wooden jon boats. I remember catching my first smallmouth bass, bluegills and other sunfish and even some rainbow trout at Montauk Springs on the head of Current River. It seemed like every weekend we were gone to one of these places to fish, and I never got tired of it.

A few years later we took our first of eight trips to Ontario where, guess what, we caught even more smallmouth as well as lake trout, pike and walleyes. We also took trout fishing trips to Montana and Oregon and even took a smallmouth trip to eastern Maine in 1970. Between these vacations were shorter trips to big Ozark lakes like Bull Shoals and Table Rock and smaller local lakes and streams. Dad also got me into hunting, and I remember enjoying late summer and early fall squirrel hunts and quail and rabbit hunting. When I got my driver's license I used to fish and hunt a lot on my own and with my high school buddies, often after school. There's no doubt in my mind that fishing and hunting probably kept me out of trouble as a teenager. I remember one Memorial Day weekend when I declined to go with my parents to see Dad's brother and his wife as it was the opening weekend of smallmouth season in the streams and I didn't want to miss it. When my aunt asked my parents where I was and they told her I was fishing she was delighted to hear I was involved in such a healthy activity. She mentioned that their son was at a large rock festival in Illinois. I suspect she liked what I was doing a lot better than her son's activity.

After moving to Arizona after college I continued my fishing, first in Yuma, then Flagstaff and in the Phoenix area. My wife and I were fortunate enough to purchase a mobile home in Greenehaven back in 1999 and I have been fishing Powell ever since. It's been an interesting fishing life for me, and I wouldn't hesitate to do it all over again. :)

Ed Gerdemann
 
Yep, loves fishing and catching, but doesn’t much care for eating them. The exception striper stuffed with crab meat/cream cheese/ritz cracker stuffing, carried over from Kamloops when I was in Idaho. Here’s the “ just take the damn picture “ shot while she held up 80+ pounds of striper. Salt water for sure, we got 5 that day over 40. Cape Cod, and we were younger View attachment 11207
That would be awesome to catch one that big for sure, catch them on live bait?
 
A lot of great stories so far!

Well, a lot of stories have a fork in the road, and the one with me and fishing had us taking separate forks, as fate would have it. Here's the sad tale:

I was living in Nebraska in 1975, when I was 12. Our large family went to visit family friends who lived in southern Illinois, not far from St. Louis. It was summer, hot and humid as can be, and so when we were there, my Illinois friend's dad invited my brother and me to go fishing with them on a small lake. I'd never been before, seemed like a good idea. Well, we picked a spot, and sat there all morning, sun blazing, and I burn like you wouldn't believe. But still, let's give it a shot. And so there's my brother, catching some small fish, maybe nothing but bluegill, but he's got them--and very excited about it. And me? Nothing. Barely a nibble all day. I did get sunburned though.

And so from that day until now, my brother is an avid fisherman, now living in North Carolina, and has the fishing sickness in his blood. And me? Well... I like to eat fish that other people have caught...

If only things had been different on that summer day in 1975...
 
A lot of great stories so far!

Well, a lot of stories have a fork in the road, and the one with me and fishing had us taking separate forks, as fate would have it. Here's the sad tale:

I was living in Nebraska in 1975, when I was 12. Our large family went to visit family friends who lived in southern Illinois, not far from St. Louis. It was summer, hot and humid as can be, and so when we were there, my Illinois friend's dad invited my brother and me to go fishing with them on a small lake. I'd never been before, seemed like a good idea. Well, we picked a spot, and sat there all morning, sun blazing, and I burn like you wouldn't believe. But still, let's give it a shot. And so there's my brother, catching some small fish, maybe nothing but bluegill, but he's got them--and very excited about it. And me? Nothing. Barely a nibble all day. I did get sunburned though.

And so from that day until now, my brother is an avid fisherman, now living in North Carolina, and has the fishing sickness in his blood. And me? Well... I like to eat fish that other people have caught...

If only things had been different on that summer day in 1975...
It's never to late, and it's a new year. When the boil's start is a great time to get hooked.
 
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