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  #11 (permalink)  
Old 05-04-2013, 06:13 AM
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Default Re: Fishing From The Sidelines...

Though I wish that I could lay claim to being THE major influence in our daughters, I can't. The "Speaker of the House"-- aka Mom --blessed them with her grace, her heart, her strengths, and best of all... her looks! The "Speaker" may be petite at 5'2" and weigh in at barely 100 pound, but she stands tall when it comes to raising some truly great kids.

If I influenced or helped to shape their character in any way whatsoever, it would rest in the outdoor pursuits and my own personal code of ethics. Though two of the girls are no longer with us, they all followed a certain approach to their time spent astream or afield-- respect, responsibility and honesty, coupled with compassion and a pure sort of enthusiastic passion for their time outdoors.

And, our daughter, Jesse, carries on that family tradition. Sometimes, it takes a day of sitting on the sidelines and just watching to gain a full appreciation for the person that one's child has become. I got that chance last weekend, and in the weeks, months and years to come, I will no doubt enjoy our shared hours together more now than ever before...

Jerry, aka hairwing530
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Old 05-04-2013, 11:56 AM
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Default Re: Fishing From The Sidelines...

Only now have I come across this thread Jerry, sorry to hear of you being down and out for the opener, but happy to read you were able to spend some quality time with you daughter.
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Old 05-04-2013, 12:03 PM
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Default Re: Fishing From The Sidelines...

Glad to know you had a good time with your daughter....great story...I always enjoy your writing
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Old 05-07-2013, 07:00 AM
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Default Re: Fishing From The Sidelines...

As the daylight began to wane last evening, and after far too many hours pulling staples from the riverside porch supports-- the screens need replacing --Dear Old Dad finally stopped dabbling around the edges and officially got off the bench and stepped back into the river for a "full-on" hour or two of working the water in front of the house, the only time constraints being my aging exterior and the onset of darkness.

I hadn't intended on fishing last night, having settled on the steps down to the dock to watch the "coming attractions," so to speak. After a day when the only accompanying sounds to my staple pulling were the rush of currents headed downstream and my occasional descriptive phrase regarding staples in general, I would have been content to watch the river come alive in the gathering twilight. With the warm days of late, the hatches have been coming on strong in the early morning and late evening hours, and lately, I've been finding a great deal of comfort in my "sidelines" activities.

It wasn't long after I'd settled on the bottom step closest to the river that I heard the sweet tinkle of glass against glass, and the soft footsteps of "The Speaker." I turned at her approach and quickly noticed her with a rod tube in one hand, and my fishing "catch-all" bag over her shoulder. She handed off the rod tube, set the bag next to me, and quietly said "Go..." as she gestured toward the river. With that, she turned and headed back up the hill toward the house.

Not being one to ignore "marching orders," I pulled the rod from its tube, eased its pieces into place, and dove into my "catch-all." There, next to the reels, fly boxes and whatevers rested two ice-cold bottles of beer, both of which immediately found their way into the river at the appropriate bankside spot. Reel chosen and rod quickly strung, I went with an old favorite-- a #14 Adams parachute.

I'd be less than honest if I told you that my initial casts from the end of the dock were pure "fly-line" poetry in motion. Let's just say that they were adequate enough to get the fly on the water in the general vicinity of my target. I was rushing my casts, and it showed. With age and inactivity, I've noticed that the "rust" from the off-season tends to linger longer...

For the next hour or so, I worked on my casting mechanics, slowing things down and smoothing out the rough spots. On the second-to-the last cast of the evening, a small brookie took pity on me, attacking the Adams 'chute as if it was the ultimate mayfly. The battle was brief but a good time, nonetheless, and the release was typical of my occasional triumphs astream-- the little brook trout threw the hook at the very last second.

No matter... It was a fitting end to the day, and the beer still was cold. This morning, I write this with a little stiffness in the old shoulders and another entry into my own fishing journals. When that's finished, I intend to "write" our youngest a note of thanks. Not an e-mail or a text... a note! You see, Jesse from four hours away AND "The Speaker" from nearby both conspired last night to put me into the game again, and to make me leave the "sidelines bench-sitting" for another day. In my estimation, I've got a true pair of "keepers..." Jerry, aka hairwing530
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Last edited by hairwing530; 05-11-2013 at 04:30 AM.
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