Throughout my childhood, my experience with fishing had always been sort of a love/hate relationship. While I understand and appreciate the rush of hooking a nice bass, moments like that would not come too often for me. Admittedly, I am not what you’d call a “good” fisherman. 

Blame it on my attention span, or my Millennial mindset of instant gratification, but the waiting is the hardest part. As a youngster, I saw fishing as a way to earn some points with my dad or uncle, but honestly just didn’t share the passion I would see in others. 

However, as I fished more in my early 20s, that perspective began to change.

Getting Hooked

I met Rex Hamilton in the Spring of 2012 when our prior professions brought us together. We ended up sharing a few rental properties, splitting the bills, and got to know each other better. I have always said, you don’t really know someone until you have lived with them and it quickly became apparent that Rex loved to fish. 

To this day, I love listening to a person talk with passion. You’re passionate about Legos? Tell me more. Rex spoke of fishing like it was medicine. I had to find out why. 

Our first outing was on a pontoon boat borrowed from a local acquaintance of his. This acquaintance lived in a housing community that was surrounded by a winding man made lake. This place was known to have lots of solid bass, which put me in my comfort zone when it came to fishing.

We threw a couple lines in a few corners but no real bites. It was more social than anything for me, and I’d never been the guy to catch very many anyways. That’s when he told me to “hold on.”

Rex floored the pontoon. A little wind in my face was welcomed as the Arizona sun felt never ending. He kicked it down a notch and we coasted towards a small decorative waterfall. “Throw a few at the base there” he said.  

A few casts in I recall feeling like I always did when fishing- clumsy. I’d feel nibbles but miss my chance. I can laugh about this now, but I was insecure about my fishing. Countless birds’ nests, pricey worms lost. I’d be working on my reel while everyone else was fishing. Picking out line and trying to act like I knew what I was doing. 

I purchased an Abu Garcia Vendetta rod and reel combo in anticipation for our fishing ventures. Despite my new, cool gear, I was still missing fish. “Set the hook a little harder” suggested Rex as I softly raised the rod on what I thought was a fish, sending my hook back at us. 

I felt another nibble and was ready this time. Setting the hook with authority, I yanked with all my strength, sure that this one wasn’t going to get away. 

Rex sat on the boat eying me hopeful with his arm in front of his face like a shield. But again, nothing. The hook and worm came flying back at us. “I don’t think that was a fish…” I said laughing. 

I didn’t have any feel. I wasn’t sure if I was getting bites or bouncing along the bottom with my lures.

I tried again. With my next cast, my line felt heavier. I watched it dance in the water. 

“What are you doing??” demanded Rex. “SET IT!” I jerked my rod passed my right hip. “Fish on!” I yelled. “Fish on!” I wanted that fish badly. I pulled, reeled, hoped and brought in a nice, healthy largemouth bass. 

I looked to Rex with a “are you seeing this” type of grin. This happened many more times as the day progressed. We slayed them that day. I listened, I learned, I had fun. I started to get why people get addicted to this.

The Fishing Vehicle

Of course, it wasn’t always like that. We didn’t always bring in fish with every trip, but I began to realize that wasn’t what this was all about. 

At the time, we were living in Arizona. While Arizona isn’t known for its fishing (especially where we were), I have yet to find a state where I can be in the desert, forest, and the mountains all in the same day. You will get bigger and better fish elsewhere, but for my introduction into the fishing world, Arizona served me well. 

With time I realized that fishing isn’t just about catching fish. The planning, the preparation, the drive. Some of my fondest memories were the drives to the “spot.” Stuffing the cooler, packing sandwiches, Gatorades, and water in preparation for our fishing trips was just as fun as the fishing itself. 

At the time, I drove a 1983 Toyota Land Cruiser FJ60. Rex would always say, “THIS IS A FISHING VEHICLE” and oh man did I love loading that 60 up with gear. We would pack up that “fishing vehicle” and drive around spot to spot around the city in the desert. And whether or not we caught fish, those are the types of things I remember. 

Even though I don’t drive that car anymore, I always look back at that “fishing vehicle” fondly and remember the times we had. 

Fly Fishing

I came home one afternoon to see Rex in our front yard practicing his fly fishing cast (I swear he even had on his waders). He wiggled his wrist as if it were dancing as he focused on his cast. Chest forward, lower back arched. Left hand rested on his hip. 

This looked awkward to my naïve eyes. He explained what he was doing and I was intrigued. Even now, I don’t understand the fly-fishing allure as much as I maybe should. Being on the river on the base of a mountain in Colorado? Count me in. Working hours to tie flies and catch a half pound trout that I can barely touch before it dies? I’m not sure. I argued my case and he argued his. Then he stated, “we are going to Sedona in the morning, you’ll see.” 

The morning came early. I am not sure if Rex slept much. He woke me up wide-eyed and giddy, almost electric. I could feel his excitement and that excitement was tangible the whole day. 

Trying to shake off my slumber I threw on some old Levi’s and we were off. The sun was still down, and I fought to keep my eyes open most of the 120 mile drive. I did not have a fly rod of my own, I was only observing that day. His smile grew the closer we got to the other worldly red rocks that encompass Sedona. 

We were quiet, both absorbed in the moment. He with his task at hand and I in my study. I had made my way down from my boulder. The water was shallow and chilly. I felt as if I were in a painting- lush, dense green from the surrounding forest filled my eyes, and the steady trickling of creek water calmed my ears. 

Rex snagged a fish. I held my breath. They fought harder than I thought. Thrashing, splashing, a tiny bull in water. “Gotta tire him out a little” Rex said. He let out line, reeled in some more, let out line, repeat. The fish was close now. I pulled up my phone’s video camera, ready to see what felt like a little miracle. 

Rex let out a disgusted “OH MY GOD!” I saw what happened, but I stupidly asked, “he got off?” The finicky trout would eat his flies, but didn’t seem to want to stay hooked to his delicate, hand-tied flies.

Ultimately, his efforts paid off. When he brought in his first, I thought he may just start jumping for joy. Rex shook off his buzz and grabbed some pliers out of his vest to perform a quick surgery to remove the hook. With care and precision, the fish swam away unharmed, ready to grow bigger and stronger.

While I was not fly fishing myself, I appreciated the fact that when you catch a trout on a fly that you tied, no matter the size, it really is a reward that is indescribable. I got to see this firsthand, and I could not have been happier for him.

The way I saw it, fly fishing was more of an art form than its conventional counterpart. More prep, more skill, more time made for a more rewarding experience despite the difficulties and frustrations that came along. Although I did not experience this at my own hands, my eyes were able to tell my brain at least that much. 

More Fishing Memories

Fishing at Home

When our days in Arizona came to an end, I brought this newfound hobby home. My Olde English Bulldogge, Winston and I would throw a rod in the cruiser and head to Spring Hill City Lake in Spring Hill, Kansas. I’d park on the bank of the lake and Winston would sit in that old Toyota and watch me cast for hours. We caught mostly crappie with a few random bass mixed in. 

I am now a father of two daughters. My oldest (almost 3) loves fish- Dory from “Finding Nemo”, sharks, water, the ocean, all of it. I got her a Barbie fishing pole from Walmart. She thought it was more of a toy until we went to grandma’s pond. 

She saw this “toy” turn into a tool- a tool to bring fish from their world to hers. With a little help from dad, she reeled in a bluegill. She giggled, jumped, clapped, and was almost hysterical. I have seen grown men share similar reactions of a toddler. What, other than fishing, can bring that out of someone?

I’ve been blessed to fish in Kansas, North Carolina, Arizona, Texas, New Mexico, Virginia, Florida, and parts of Canada. I’ve fished with seasoned anglers and novice newcomers. Fishing has taught me to look around, breathe, laugh with your buddies- hell, laugh at yourself! Be present, celebrate your wins and not dwell on the ones that got away.

Regardless of where or with who, fishing brings me peace and connection.