Where did it start?

Northern said:
Growing up the youngest of 7 kids in MN, the only vacations we ever took were to fishing resorts "up North" - i.e. a hundred miles outside of the twin cities with all 9 of us piled into a Plymouth Fury wagon.

It got lost when my folks passed, but they used to have a pic of a 2 yo me crouched on a dock, fishing for sunnies with a line tied to a yellow plastic beach shovel. Canned corn still smells like bait to me!

I do have Dad's old pike lures. Torn between framing them and trying to catch a pike for him. Miss you, Dad! View attachment 4536
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When my Dad had his cabin on Fall Lake, just outside of Ely, MN, I caught more fish on the Red and White "Daredevil" than all of the other lures combined. It worked for Northerns, Walleye, and bass.
 
Ok…my fly fishing story…

I started fishing about five yo…spinning rod for panfish and trout in central NJ. Moved to Hawaii in ‘77 when I was 18, and become obsessed with spear fishing, both free diving and scuba….and big game trolling, then bottom fishing, then surf rods & kayak fishing. About 8 years ago, had a diving accident that resulted in a barotrauma incident that caused me to lose my hearing…after a month of hyperbaric chamber treatments, steroid regimen and hearing specialist consultations I thought it was going to be permanent…then one day, out of the blue, my hearing returned, just like how it linked out…with practically no warning. My doc’s surmised I may have had residual nerve damage from ten thousand dives over the decades, and said it could happen again…so I stopped diving. At this time, my wife and I explored the possibility of living on the mainland, and chose the Seattle area to buy a place. I was walking with my spinning rod on an OP river when I watched someone fly fishing…something I’ve never watched anyone do in Hawaii…so I watched some YouTube videos on how to cast and fly fish for trout…and I’ve been addicted to it ever since….and haven’t touched a spinning or conventional fishing rig since…this summer will be my sixth year…
 
ok, a couple more....circa '80

me and my dad
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waiting for somethin' to happen...
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if ya kill it, ya gotta clean it.
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My first memory is fishing with my dad at Ft. Lewis, on a pond liberally stocked with trout. 1964-ish.

Then, fishing on a dock at Grandma's Budd Inlet house for pile perch. I would get out of the car, grab a rod, collect some beach crabs, and fish between the slots on the dock, for hours and hours. At night I would go stare at Grandpa's fishing tackle, in a closet in the garage.

I don't remember my first trip to Ilwaco, but that was a great summer thing for many years.

No pics, unfortunately.
 
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Back home, down under, my dad, uncle, cousin and I would go fishing in the ocean sometimes. However, we never caught anything. In hindsight, my dad and uncle had no idea what they were doing. There was no lack of enthusiasm, though.

My mum's cousin married an avid fly fisherman and he offered to teach us how to cast and tie flies. I was about 10 years old. My dad and I were instantly hooked. The only problem was there was very little fresh water in our state and even less fish. We would blatantly trespass on farmers properties, to access tiny little creeks, because it was the only option available to us. I got electrocuted once, trying to crawl under a bull fence. Good times.

The closest proper fly fishing was about 12-16 hours away, so we only went once or twice a year. However, back in those days, the fishing was epic. Nowadays, it is barely worth going. Needless to say, moving to WA has been amazing.

Here's a photo of the first trout I ever caught. I was scared to touch it.

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Here's some random photos, with some faces blurred to respect their privacy.

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It has been fun teaching my wife how to fish, too. Here's a photo of her with her first fish ever.

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I learned to fish from my mom’s brother who, because he had no kids of his own, tried his best to instill a love of the sport with all his nieces and nephews. He’s a pretty hardcore fisherman and his outings weren’t exactly kid friendly, so I was the only one it stuck with. After a few bluegill outings on Lake Ballinger with bait, he taught me how to fly fish. One short casting lesson at the park was enough (apparently) and we headed up to the Beckler River, a rocky and swift tributary of the S Fork Skykomish. Those of you who are familiar with it know it’s not the most “small 8 year old girl” friendly—at least not when shes tagging along with a grown man who doesn’t quite realize that his knee deep water is fully mid thigh to waist deep for her. Despite almost getting swept away several times and almost certainly coming close to hypothermia, I was hooked, as they say.

It’s funny…I have no recollection of my first fish on the fly. What I do remember is the feeling of the unrelenting rush of water against my hole-in-the-knee jeans, finding a nest of puffball killdeer hatchlings, watching a garter snake lazily zigzag across a back eddy, and riverside snacks of thimbleberries dusty from the gravel road. I guess those are the things that keep me at it.

Proudly showing off my first “keeper”
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My uncle and I ready for a day of fishing on the Gallatin (I think)
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June of ‘60 or ‘61, first fish while fishing by myself down at the local creek about a mile from our house. Dad was at work, so my Mom and our dog Susie greeted me after I trudged back home and took this photo of me which I recently discovered. Kite string for line, and a snelled worm hook fooled him. That little Coastal Cutthroat and I both got hooked that day.

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Greg Armstrong said:
June of ‘60 or ‘61, first fish while fishing by myself down at the local creek about a mile from our house. Dad was at work, so my Mom and our dog Susie greeted me after I trudged back home and took this photo of me which I recently discovered. Kite string for line, and a snelled worm hook fooled him. That little Coastal Cutthroat and I both got hooked that day.

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That is a great photo, your pup thinks it is treat time.
 
From time to time my uncle took me walleye fishing in the dead of the winter on the Allegheny River where we lived in NW Pennsylvania. That’s cold and snow country, but on this particular day there wasn’t any snow, just sleeting rain, and I can still remember how cold I was.

We had each caught a couple small walleyes that day when when a guy with a camera showed up and asked to take our pictures as he was writing an article for the Pennsylvania Angler magazine, that as published by the PA Fish and Boat commission.

Some months later I saw the article, and my picture, in the PA Angler magazine. I was 13 years old at the time.

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As far as I know, is that I'm the only member of my family that fishes let alone. fly fishes. When I was young, I started at about 10 or 11. Could never afford a rod or a reel. But could buy tippet spools. So I fished with a hand line. Caught everything from soup to Sand sharks. Move to 1957. I bought my first fly rod with my first pay day when working at Boeing. Got a fishing setup with gear for Christmas one year, two rods and reels and the rest of the junk.

Back in those days the limit was 16 fish. and You kept what you caught. Used to have a lot of trout to eat when ever I went fishing. I slowly got better gear as I earned more money. Now a days you can catch 2 fish and they better be over 14 inches long. This was in Washington. Moved to Montana in 2007.
 
When I was a kid we lived in Nevada. My dad would load up the Bronco and we'd drive up to Little Lava Lake in Oregon, and camp right next to the Deschutes, where it runs out of the lake, for a couple of weeks each summer, for a couple years. Then life happened and we never went back.

I did go back there a few years ago and things sure have changed. The river is not the same, and the forest is diseased and in bad shape.

But back then at Little Lava Lake where the Deschutes River is born... the trees were healthy, and the river was robust and full of fish. In the evenings, the river in front of our campsite would come alive with little 6" to 8" trout feeding. So many dimpling the surface it would look like it was raining. So much fun.

The place in the photo below is a mile or so down river from our camp site. I'm sitting on that rock, fishing into a big log jam and a big hole that was at least 15' deep. I was using a light tippet, and the first fish that hit busted my fly right off. So I took about a foot of leader off, and tried again. Another hit, another fly gone! More shortening of leader, another fly lost.

By this time, I'm totally freaking out. Shaking so much I can hardly tie a fly on. These fish were huge compared to the little trout I'd been catching. These were big broad sided slabs of rainbow trout, flashing silver as they'd swim out from under the log jam to get to my fly.

I finally shortened my leader to where the tip was about equal to 12lb test and started catching fish, just as my dad discovered me and my honey hole. So we both started catching fish. Big beautiful fat rainbow trout, all 16" to 18" long, some even bigger. Epic. To this day, the best fishing I've ever experienced. Enough to keep me hooked for another 50 plus years. My dad & I still talk about that day. He sent me this photo not too long ago to remind us both how wonderful it was.

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Not where it started but certainly early on. I’ld guess 1963 or so. I’m doing my best to look like a wise and savvy fisherman here. My actual beginning was with a dandy 10” brown that was the most beautiful thing I’ld ever seen. Carried it around in my pocket to show everyone for a couple days until my mom found out.
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Started in the early 70's we would go up to my Uncles who owned a big ranch and fish the creek that ran through the meadow... All the 6-9" redbands you wanted to catch... We get to the house and go out back by the garden with a shovel and dig up our worms for the day.... A zebec closed face reel with a pack of eagle claw #8's and a split shot was all you needed. All stuffed in a green (I think an eagle claw creel) and off you went... such good times fishing that creek that was 3'-4' wide with deep under cut banks.... Here i am with my brother and cousin with my catch...

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Then one day I caught a Lunker .... A whopping 12 incher

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I've been a huge fan of water, beaches, and everything that lives in water or on beaches for my entire life. I grew up with a "family beach" (Maternal grandparents house on the Sound), and a lot of our family vacation time featured beaches of some sort. Apparently I tried to eat every beach I encountered.
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As far as the love of all things fish, fishing, and fisheries - It all started with this guy. Pa, in his day, was a badass.
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The fish he brought home from his trips are some of my core memories, and as early as I can remember, I had a desire to fish above pretty much all else.
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Any trip to my grandparents house became a fishing trip, and any boatride, no matter how short and shallow, was an excuse to fish. Didn't matter if I was backlashing the shit out of an old 109, or soaking herring for sculpins...as long as I was fishing, I was happy.
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Between commercial fishing, the seafood industry, guiding, and the various fisheries lab and fieldwork I've engaged in since I was 17 (so, like, my entire adult life), fish have been my vocation, profession, recreation, and obsession.

Thanks, Pa.
 
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