With the loss of his father, writer remembers where his love affair with fishing began

Although it took place so many years ago, I can remember catching my first fish with my father, Lloyd, as if it happened this morning.

My family had rented cottages on the shore of Lake Winnipesaukee in New Hampshire, where I swam and splashed with my cousins and my dad and my uncle fished every morning.

One gorgeous, not-too-hot summer afternoon, my dad asked me if I would like to go fishing. It was my first time and I wasn’t sure what to expect as he rowed the little wooden boat to a spot not too far from our cottage, baited a small spinning rod with a live worm and cast it out for me.

When the plastic red-and-white bobber began dancing across the water’s surface, my father said, “I think you have a fish.” I don’t remember who was more excited, me or my dad, as I reeled that little bluegill to the boat, then stared at its black vertical stripes and bright, olive-green body as my father removed the hook from its mouth.

Being a typical 4-year-old, I asked my dad if we could keep the fish. He said, “Let’s let him go back to his mom and dad so he can grow bigger,” which made perfect sense to me.

That trip hooked me on fishing for life, and I’ve thought about it often during the two weeks since my dad passed away at age 89. My dad loved to fish, and sharing his passion with me at such a young age changed my life, although I didn’t know it at the time.

My dad grew up in Boston, and he told stories about fishing with his grandfather in the Charles River and from piers on the Massachusetts coast. His favorite was the time his grandfather hooked a huge carp, and as he got the fish close to shore, my dad, who was 10 or 12 at the time, waded into the water to scoop up the carp in his arms. His grandfather was the envy of the neighborhood, and my dad’s mother cooked the carp for dinner that night.

I grew up in Long Island, New York, where my dad fished on local party boats for bluefish and flounder, which we loved to eat. After I got my first newspaper job and moved away, he fished in local freshwater lakes, where he caught carp and bass.

I had fished for carp in my early teens, riding my bicycle across town with my fishing rod to a pond that had so many carp, it was hard to not catch one. A nearby Italian bakery would give me dough for bait, and I would catch and release carp until it was time to pedal home. I’d report my day’s catches at dinner, my dad nodding approvingly and my sisters ignoring me.

When I became an outdoors writer in South Florida thanks to my fishing experience, and my dad retired down here, I was able to take him fishing. In fact, whenever I would call captain friends to ask about going fishing in the hopes of getting a story, they would say, “As long as you bring your dad.”

Trips with Bouncer Smith produced dolphin, kingfish and mutton snapper, and he and my dad developed a special bond. My dad had a friend with a boat and they fished twice a week out of Boynton Beach Inlet. They didn’t use wire leaders, and one day my dad told Bouncer how many hooks he was losing to sharp-toothed kingfish. So Bouncer started mailing my dad three-hook kingfish rigs, with the point of the upper hook going through the eye of the lower hook. Used with dead sardines, the rigs were extremely effective, and whenever I spoke with Bouncer, he would ask if my dad needed more hooks.

I had so many memorable fishing trips with my dad. George Poveromo of the Salt Water Sportsman seminar series invited us to Bimini, where my dad caught a kingfish with Harry Vernon that bottomed out a 50-pound scale. Fishing with multiple sailfish tournament winners Mark Lamb and Daryl Deka, my dad released two sailfish on a blustery day off Riviera Beach. And he caught a 100-pound tarpon, his first, fishing at night in Haulover Inlet with Tom and Marcia Calandra.

One of our last trips together was out of Boynton Inlet with Captain Chris Lemieux. We trolled up several hard-fighting bonitos, which tested my dad to his limit, then he caught two keeper kingfish. When a kite bait at the front of the boat got hit, I grabbed the rod and landed a 43-pound king.

Like that very first bluegill, I don’t know who was more delighted, but I’m pretty sure it was my dad.