Post by Petey on Sept 7, 2010 9:36:32 GMT -5
With a 3-day weekend and beautiful weather on tap, I knew some quality time on the water was in place. I had seen the forecast some days in advance and told momma that I was taking Chloe out with me Monday morning to see if we couldn’t get a trout to tug on our line. I started putting the idea in Chloe’s little head about heading out with her old man. Getting her psyched early was the key to not having our plans derailed by a “Family Bike Ride” or something of that nature. So when Monday morning finally arrived we hooked up the boat, loaded up the gear and took off with nothing more than a “Good luck and be safe!”
We were a little late out of the gate, but I was OK with that. I knew since she was still young that anything more than an hour or so in the fishing boat was going to be pushing it. We arrived at Millers Island somewhere north of 9:00 AM. I launched the boat with her sitting front and center and immediately started to row up river towards the weir dam. I worked with her getting use to using her fishing voice, “Quiet but not quite a whisper”… this would last for about a sentence or two. Then it was “Dad! Look at that log, it could be an alligator!” at the top of her lungs. Each observation made was at full volume and sheer excitement.
Finally I rowed us up into a rising pod of fish. I flicked out some line, went back over the basics and gave a couple of quick lessons. But in then end my message was hold on to what you got and when you feel a tug, reel! She stood front and center as I started to work the boat back and forth in the slow moving current. This went on for about 15 minutes and we had zero hits to show for our effort. I reeled in the line to change the bugs, Chloe knew I needed something pink on the end of my line. Unfortunately for her I don’t carry a whole lot pink outside of an egg, and I didn’t think an emerging egg was what they were hitting. So I talked her into trusting me, and that I would get a fish on the end of her line. I showed her the small midges coming off and showed her a couple of the flies I suggested we use. I anchored the boat down in a pod of rising fish, casted the line out and told her to just let it swing in the current. Let the fish do the work.
It wasn’t a minute or two later as I was putting a few things away when all chaos breaks loose. Gone was the “quiet voice” and what emerged was the high pitch squeal that can only come from a young girls lungs which had taken over the silent stillness of the Clinch. I was trying to explain how to play a fish and was soon to realize that at 4 they don’t get it, at 5 they don’t get it and at 6, they just don’t get it. Their instant reaction is to reel and to do so with all of their might. Once she got the fish up to the boat where she could see it then she was able to watch it swim and play it a little, but it was mostly out of curiosity. She just stood and giggled, feeling the tug from a plump little brown trout. I grabbed up the net, lifted the rod tip and helped bring her fish into the boat.
Now I wish I could tell you all things went as smooth as butter, a photo was taken and the fish was released. But that is not what occurred. I went through all the steps of how to handle a fish properly and what happened next threw all of that out the door. As I went to snap a photo the trout leapt from her hands, bounced off net and went directly under my front casting deck. So to the people on the Clinch who were enjoying a quiet morning of fishing, I apologize. Cause all hell broke loose in amazing fashion. I grabbed my trash can/bailing bucket and started to flood the floor of the boat. Chloe the entire time is bouncing back and forth, wanting to know condition, where it went, if it was going to be alright, then getting mad at me because I just dumped a half a bucket of water on her shoe and I was getting the pink puppy on the hem of her pants wet. Now after what probably only lasted a total of 2 minutes but seemed like an eternity I was finally able to wash the brown trout from underneath the casting deck. I scooped it up, put it back in the net and submerged it in the river. After allowing emotions to simmer and seeing the trout swim in my net, I asked her if she wanted to try one more time. So as I held the net directly under her hands, I snapped one quick photo and returned the fish back from where it came. We sat and watched it swim just below us before it swam off to deeper water under its own power.
Now I had her attention. We took turns catching fish and she was able to land her first ever Brookie; which was caught, photographed and released without nearly the trouble as before. It wasn’t long after that the water started to rise and the 1 turbine that was turned on at 10 was finally upon us. At this point she took her jacket from that morning, pillowed it up on the casting deck then pulled her hat over her eyes letting me know that “I am going to take a moment to relax”. I picked up anchor and we started to drift. It was then I hooked what would have been the biggest rainbow in my fishing history only to lose it by the boat in the quiet of the morning. But that is another story for another day, this was Chloe’s day.
Chloe and her Brown Trout
Chloe and her Brookie
Petey
We were a little late out of the gate, but I was OK with that. I knew since she was still young that anything more than an hour or so in the fishing boat was going to be pushing it. We arrived at Millers Island somewhere north of 9:00 AM. I launched the boat with her sitting front and center and immediately started to row up river towards the weir dam. I worked with her getting use to using her fishing voice, “Quiet but not quite a whisper”… this would last for about a sentence or two. Then it was “Dad! Look at that log, it could be an alligator!” at the top of her lungs. Each observation made was at full volume and sheer excitement.
Finally I rowed us up into a rising pod of fish. I flicked out some line, went back over the basics and gave a couple of quick lessons. But in then end my message was hold on to what you got and when you feel a tug, reel! She stood front and center as I started to work the boat back and forth in the slow moving current. This went on for about 15 minutes and we had zero hits to show for our effort. I reeled in the line to change the bugs, Chloe knew I needed something pink on the end of my line. Unfortunately for her I don’t carry a whole lot pink outside of an egg, and I didn’t think an emerging egg was what they were hitting. So I talked her into trusting me, and that I would get a fish on the end of her line. I showed her the small midges coming off and showed her a couple of the flies I suggested we use. I anchored the boat down in a pod of rising fish, casted the line out and told her to just let it swing in the current. Let the fish do the work.
It wasn’t a minute or two later as I was putting a few things away when all chaos breaks loose. Gone was the “quiet voice” and what emerged was the high pitch squeal that can only come from a young girls lungs which had taken over the silent stillness of the Clinch. I was trying to explain how to play a fish and was soon to realize that at 4 they don’t get it, at 5 they don’t get it and at 6, they just don’t get it. Their instant reaction is to reel and to do so with all of their might. Once she got the fish up to the boat where she could see it then she was able to watch it swim and play it a little, but it was mostly out of curiosity. She just stood and giggled, feeling the tug from a plump little brown trout. I grabbed up the net, lifted the rod tip and helped bring her fish into the boat.
Now I wish I could tell you all things went as smooth as butter, a photo was taken and the fish was released. But that is not what occurred. I went through all the steps of how to handle a fish properly and what happened next threw all of that out the door. As I went to snap a photo the trout leapt from her hands, bounced off net and went directly under my front casting deck. So to the people on the Clinch who were enjoying a quiet morning of fishing, I apologize. Cause all hell broke loose in amazing fashion. I grabbed my trash can/bailing bucket and started to flood the floor of the boat. Chloe the entire time is bouncing back and forth, wanting to know condition, where it went, if it was going to be alright, then getting mad at me because I just dumped a half a bucket of water on her shoe and I was getting the pink puppy on the hem of her pants wet. Now after what probably only lasted a total of 2 minutes but seemed like an eternity I was finally able to wash the brown trout from underneath the casting deck. I scooped it up, put it back in the net and submerged it in the river. After allowing emotions to simmer and seeing the trout swim in my net, I asked her if she wanted to try one more time. So as I held the net directly under her hands, I snapped one quick photo and returned the fish back from where it came. We sat and watched it swim just below us before it swam off to deeper water under its own power.
Now I had her attention. We took turns catching fish and she was able to land her first ever Brookie; which was caught, photographed and released without nearly the trouble as before. It wasn’t long after that the water started to rise and the 1 turbine that was turned on at 10 was finally upon us. At this point she took her jacket from that morning, pillowed it up on the casting deck then pulled her hat over her eyes letting me know that “I am going to take a moment to relax”. I picked up anchor and we started to drift. It was then I hooked what would have been the biggest rainbow in my fishing history only to lose it by the boat in the quiet of the morning. But that is another story for another day, this was Chloe’s day.
Chloe and her Brown Trout
Chloe and her Brookie
Petey
