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Summertime in the BelgradesContentsfor Printing Article Summaries |
A Day with Dad
By Mike Guarino When I was growing up, one of my favorite weekend outings was walking the banks of a small trout stream with my father. We both enjoyed hitting our favorite fishing holes, casting small phoebes or spinners into the fast moving rifts or slowly drifting a worm we had just dug from the vegetable garden into the deeper pools. It was heaven. We'd often see deer or a partridge during out walk and once I can recall seeing a barn owl swoop down out of a tree and swoosh directly over my head. The big bird was completely silent until he passed by and then I could hear the unmistakable swoosh of feathers pressed against air. That was a sight I can still picture today and I hope I never forget it. Well, my dad came to visit this weekend and we had plans to do some trout trolling and maybe some bass fishing — I was excited and anxiously planned all week long. Of course it poured rain all day on Saturday (if you only new my luck, you'd have seen that coming), so we were forced to spend most of the day inside. Around 1:00 the skies cleared just a little bit and we decided to head to a stream right here in the Belgrade area, a stream I've never walked in all the years I've lived here. The moment we got there, I went back in time and was a 10-year old kid again. Only this time I wasn't pumped up about catching fish, this time I wasn't running to the next fishing spot or climbing onto the nearest boulder. This time I didn't get covered in mud or wander off into the woods. This time I walked very slowly, smelling that sweet air with the combination of grass and moisture that comes just after a spring rain. This time I saw the birds and listened to their songs and I didn't care a lick if I even made a cast. We walked a path and picked some wild asparagus for our favorite breakfast the next day. Dad makes a killer wild asparagus and cheddar cheese omelet that may sound gross to some, but is a bit of heaven to me. Combine the eggs with a couple of pan fried brookies and it's a real treat. But this time, for a couple of hours, I didn't care about what fly to cast or what color spoon would work best in the slightly stained water, all I cared about was walking and talking and soaking up every ounce of the day. We actually did manage to catch a few fish too; I on my 5-weight fly rod and dad on his ultra light spin rod, loaded up with the same phoebe spoon we used 25-years ago. The brook trout didn't end up in the frying pan though, they are still in the stream ready to be caught another day. Time changes a person I guess, sometimes even for the better. It's amazing, when you think about it, how much of an impact a fishing trip can have on a youngster. Sure, it's work taking a kid fishing — believe me, I know! But all the times I probably drove my dad crazy, getting lost in the woods or forgetting to bring the bait or falling down in the mud and tracking it all through his truck, the bottom line is that my life would have an empty hole in it, if it wasn't for those memories. I got to relive some of those memories this past rainy Saturday, and you can bet your last dollar that I'm taking my girls out there very soon. I hope they get dirty and soaking wet and track mud into my truck. I think I'll wait a few days before I clean it up too. Mike Guarino can be contacted at | ||