Memories of Dad

[kickingfrog]

Figured I start a thread about Dads and our fishing/hunting/outdoor memories of them.

One of my earliest and favourite ones is going fishing one night at my families cottage on Lake Nippising. At the time we lived in North Bay and it was less than a half hour drive door to door, of course as a kid it seemed like a cross country trek (What I would give to be a half hour from the cottage now). I would have been 6-7 at the time and we left home after my dad finished work one summer night. We stopped at the bait shop near the cottage. It was named Charlie's and the person who I took as Charlie had lost an arm below the elbow during the war. I likely asked too many questions about the arm but the only mention of it by my dad was discussing in the car afterwards what should, and shouldn't be asked by 7 year olds. We bought a white styrofoam container with a dozen dew worms and a lure I had never seen before. It was a crawler harness. Red beads, 2 bright silver blades and 3 hooks on wire line. I was sceptical.

It was flat calm night in the bay which wasn't always the norm and we used the aluminum painted-to-look-like-birchbark sportspal instead of the boat. We pushed off and my dad rigged up the hardness as I dug out the fattest worm I could find in the container. He flipped the offering out and closed the bail, handing me the rod as he grabbed the paddle and started us towards the rocky shoals near by. We had just passed the first shoal and he said to get ready because the bass that lived there had been waiting all day for us to come by. On cue, my rod bent in half and a bass that was a sure world record in my seven year old eyes' came bursting out of the glass flat surface and the battle was on. After lots of shear panic on my part and laughter on my dad's, he lipped the bass at the side of the canoe. I always claimed it as my "4 pound smallmouth", but knowing what I know now about fishermen, even budding young ones, it might not have been even 3 pounds. I don't remember if we caught another fish so I guess we didn't, but I was sold on the new fangled crawler harness and a few years later it would catch my "4 pound walleye".

Ice-cream from the roadside stand or a night sleeping in the bunk bed in the back room at the cottage before my mom and very little brother showed up in the morning...

I don't know...

...I just remember the bass and that red harness hanging out of its mouth.

 

What is your favourite memory?

[npt1]

I have many fond memories of my Dad, he was a man of strong character and morals.

He taught me not to ever lie, steal or cheat in any way.

I remember my lesson about lying,

Dad said to me, Son, as long as you always tell the truth, you will never have to remember anything.

He passed away in 1976, but I still talk to him.

Here is a picture of him and I on Aberdeen Avenue in Hamilton, It was take on Easter Sunday, 1953

[manitoubass2]

Oh man where to start? Thankfully my dad is still sharing this rock with me?

 

one memory that stands out is hunting the old trails up of trucking roads on the 502.

 

We walked many many miles and many many trails.

 

After getting my first c02 pellet gun, off we went bird hunting. Man I was so excited, I wanna say I was around 7 but im not sure?

 

We walk this trail, dad shoots 2 birds. We get to a fork in the trail. He asks If I wanna walk it solo? Of course!!!! Im a big bad hunter now lol. He gives me a whistle and says walk for a few minutes and head back.

 

I start walking. I see a bird!!!! So excited I load and aim. Headshot!!! Wait, he didnt go down???? 5 more shots, he wont drop? Off goes the whistle, im panicking now, what the heck kind of bird is this?

 

My dad comes running. " I shot it 6 times dad it wont die"!

 

My dad laughing, "thats no partidge son, thats a turkey"

 

????

 

The fishing stories are too many. Some of the older memories dont even involve fish. Grandma falling outta the boat, fishing for hours wondering why i couldnt catch a fish? Duh, hook was in my armpit lol. Big storms and lotsa swimming.

 

Actually makes me tear up thinkin bout them days.

 

I hope my kids remember all our adventures down the road?

[Spiel]

My Dad passed away when I was 15, seems I hardly knew him at the time. Funny thing is I thought he was old (41).

I was the oldest of four at the time, pressure on me was to be the man of the family, so I quit school and started working to help Mom.

 

Dad was along with his Father and his youngest brother was my connection and lasting passion for fishing.

All have passed now, most recently (very, very recently) my Dad's youngest brother, my Uncle.

 

They taught me everything I knew about fishing, fly tying and rod building and inspired all I have learned since.

 

Happy Fathers day to them and all my friends here, the fathers here and their fathers and grandfathers before them..

[kitch]

As a kid my dad took me fishing, and while we didn't always catch a lot, he taught me to love fishing. I remember not being able to lift his huge tackle box as a kid, and he'd have me carry light weight stuff to the boat. Years later when his heart went bad, it was me carrying all the stuff to the boat and me just getting him into the boat. Complete role reversal, but I miss it. Even now I look to the front of the boat for him, and he's been gone 15 yrs. Since I'm fishing the same waters with my boys now (Buckhorn lake) I love it when my kids will say "Isn't this where Gramps caught that muskie?" Even though he was gone before they were born, it's as though they know him. I'm sure he smiles at the thought, just as I do.

[Freshtrax]

my old man worked his ass of growing up, didn't see him allot he would be in other countries for weeks on end Sort of of a workaholic. . But the times he was around we went fishing at every opportunity. At the cottage , or on the river, and then there was the canoe trips. Here's a shot of him a few years back.

[bigugli]

Have to admit, I never had a dad. I certainly had a lot of uncles who filled the slot just fine.

 

I've taken the best I learnt from them and applied it all when it was my turn to be a Dad, and now as a Grampa. It sure was a great feeling of pride when my son ran us up to Biscotasi for a week with his grandmother. No better feeling than knowing my son is my best fishing partner.

[Beavertail]

Even though my Dad isn't a fisherman, some of my earliest memories were of him taking me to small pond just outside of the city limits to catch Rock Bass. We'd start in the garden with a spade in hand to dig up earth worms, which to me at the time was half the fun. Our equipment consisted of an ancient level wind, Dacron and steel rod. That was about the only time he took me fishing but there was enough of a spark to light the fire, there has been no looking back. I thank my stars he's still with us, and plan on sharing a couple cold beers with him tonight. Now, soon it will be time to pass the torch and take my little guy fishing, wonder if that small pond is still full of rockbass...

[manitoubass2]

I already spoke of my Dad. Lotsa times he was away at work though(now I understand that better that Ive had to do it)

 

But ALOT of my upbringing was my grandpa burpy. Boy he loved to fish!

 

He like to troll walleyes or just a bare hook with a minnow or crawler.

 

He was best know for sleeping in the boat, only waking up to set the hook lol.

 

He taught me alot that man, especially how important a strong work ethic is, how important family is(you never turn your back on family), how important it is to help the community, how important it is to play sports as a youngin.

 

Besides that, as I got older. My grandma passed. I remember alot of tears and stories of the war. We had 4-5 beers everynight after dinner(I was taking care of him at this point)

 

Many might not agree with this, but he always told me, "Ricky, there is nothing to be proud of when killing other man that have families. Its haunts me everyday. We thought we were fighting for peace. Now I know we fought for selfish interests. Promise me you'll never fight a war that isnt defending our home soil. You dont have to be a killer to make peace".

 

Not his exact words of course, but thats what I remember.

 

Of course, no disrespect to the men and women that fight for our country

Edited June 21, 2015 by manitoubass2

[Old Ironmaker]

All very touching stories. I am fortunate enough to still have both Mom and Dad at my age. 84 and 88. I am the only one within our group of friends my age blessed with not only 1 but both parents still alive. Dad is still as sharp as a tack. He has his memory issues now but Hell he's going on 89 and has always said he will live to 100, I don't doubt it.

 

Dad was born in Hamilton on the kitchen table on Birmingham Street in the shadows of the Blast Furnaces in 1927. When he was 2 or 3 years old my Noni packed up her 4 kids and left Canada to return to Abruzzi Italia. Pops returned to Canada at the age of 20 and although a born Canadian could not speak a word of The Kings English. My Grand Father whom I met 2 or 3 times did some serious time in prison here in Canada leaving my non English speaking Noni to fend for herself with 4 small children. Nono fought in WW1 with the Brits and caught shrapnel to the head and had a plate put in where his scull used to be. The result was a life of crime in Hamilton. My father never had a Dad. He never was interested in the outdoors. Years latter my Father my 2 brothers and I went together to Italy to meet my Grandmother and my Dad's sister and her husband, Zia Rosina and Zio Giulio. In my broken Italian I learned that my father swore that if he ever got through the war as a young teen he would never go into the Mountains and woods again. As the Germans retreated up the Adriatic coast they would basically take any man or boy strong enough to hold a weapon into their ranks at gunpoint. My father with his 12 year old brother and their young friends would have to take to the snow capped Gran Saso mountain range and hide for days and weeks to avoid conscription by the Nazis. Begging for food and shelter from villagers and farmers throughout their ordeal. Sleeping in barns when lucky enough to find a farmer that would risk the lives of his family and himself to give these children a safe somewhat warm place to rest before they trekked higher into this massive mountain range in 2 feet of snow. Some of the kids made it back home, most of these children didn't, they froze to death or starved. Many were turned into the Nazis by other Italians to save themselves. Those that did collaborate with the Nazis went missing shortly after VE day. Those that gave shelter were hailed as heroes after the war.

 

So when I was a kid and hated him for not taking us fishing and camping like my American cousins and the kids at school did every summer I am ashamed to this day when ever I think about it. When I first took up fishing at the age of 30 I took my father on trips with us. He never really enjoyed it. When I went to visit Italy for the first time and learned about how a child eluded the Nazis I now know why my brothers and I never went fishing and hopefully he can forgive me. We have never talked about it and most likely never will.

 

When I was kid I was impressed by tough guys in the neighborhood because they could fight well. Want to meet a real tough guy Visit my father who I am proud to say I am his son.

 

Johnny D

Edited June 22, 2015 by Old Ironmaker