Where to begin? Like many fishermen my father and grandfather taught me to love fishing. I've never really fished for the food, although I do enjoy eating fish, rather for the sport.

I don't know that I have a favorite story because I have so many good memories. Most memorable are probably the time I attempted to melt monofilament line so it could not get tangle on any wildlife and the hot glob of melted line landed on my hand causing a scar that has lasted 30 years. Or the two times I got a hook in my finger. The first time I was just a child and had to ride my bike several miles to find a friend’s parent to get it out. That was a good lesson since the next time it happened I was on a remote lake in Ontario with no help within hours and no desire to cut the fishing short. It's no fun having a 2-foot pike flopping around on the end of a treble stuck in your finger. With encouragement from my fishing partner I was able pop the hook through the skin and cut off the end.

It's a cliche but it's true: For me a bad day fishing is better than a good day at work. There is nothing more relaxing than a day on a lake or stream and not much more exhilarating than a strike from a large fish. I have tried to share my love of fishing with my children. Only time will tell if they come to enjoy it as much as I do. As they have grown they all have shunned it until recently my middle child has taken up Fly Fishing. I always enjoy hearing about his success because I know what he's experiencing. Even my oldest asked recently to borrow some equipment. He hasn't yet, but at least there's hope.

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