It’s time for my annual fishing report. Readers know that each year I run off with 40 other guys into the forests along the East Carson River and camp and fish for two days. I’ve been attending since 2003.
This year I did not go. Chad, my son-in-law, with the RV, chose not to go, leaving me homeless in the frozen forest. He’s married with kids. He has other responsibilities. His son Tyler’s birthday of April 28 often conflicts with the start of fishing season on the last Saturday of April. Chad has ditched Tyler’s birthday to go fishing once too often – time to stay home, go out to dinner.
My personal irony is that I was looking forward to fishing this year more than any other year. After 14 years of fishing on the first day, I was finally getting serious about actually fishing.
All these years I’ve gone for the camping and camaraderie. These guys are passionate fishermen with all the paraphernalia and years of avid loyalty to the sport. They are shrewd and successful at reeling in trout.
I was an English teacher dilettante who fished as a kid tagging along now for the fun of it, hanging out with my buddies, using my grandson’s five-foot pole. Gino was always there and he hated to fish. He too came for the camaraderie. We often fished near the camp, symbolically, as a reason to set up folding chairs along the river and snooze in the sunshine. It was quiet around camp during the day. They guys were all downstream in their trucks at their favorite holes between camp and Markleeville.
Last year, my first year fishing while retired, Gino didn’t come. I was able to focus on fishing. I took little Jack’s short pole down the riverbank alone to reflect, connect, and commune with the wild river and its fish. Could I do it? Did I still have it? I called upon my childhood muses, motor memories of fishing the narrow Pennsylvania streams for crafty native trout. I worked the reeds, a snag magnet, but a favorite trout resort. I had my limit before lunch, and was the only guy to bag five.
Motivated, I went down to Benicia Bait and Tackle last fall and bought an Okuma Celilo 7.5-foot pole and a Shimano Spirex 2500FG reel. I bought all new tackle and bait this spring, Berkeley Mouse Tails aplenty.
“Hey, Dude, bummer. I’m not going fishing this year. Sorry.”
Chad broke the tragic news to me as gently as he could in a text message. I responded with “#*&@!!” He followed up with a compensating addendum. “Besides, the river is all blown out this year because of the heavy snow melt. It would be a waste of time.”
So, here I sit brokenhearted. Came to fish, but haven’t started.
The good news is that I’m going fishing this weekend. I may be on the river reeling one in while you’re reading this. Chad, too, was sad to miss opening day, so he and I and the boys are taking the RV to Centerville Flat, the site of our annual openers, for the Memorial Day weekend. I’ll get to fish without the crowds or the competition.
I’m curious of my pending success, and hoping I enjoy it as much as I want to enjoy it. I would like to add fishing to my collection of retirement hobbies. I have a lot of sit around and stand around hobbies, like cards, keyboards, and pinball, and I need a few walk around hobbies.
Susan has agreed to drive off with me on fishing excursions. She’s willing to sleep in a tent, on a quality air mattress, walk trails, and collect firewood if necessary. I broke out my old Svea Optimus123 gas stove and fired it up. It still works after 40 years.
I’ll admit I’m green and uncertain. I’m not sure how I’ll take to this. Except for Ten Lakes in Yosemite and the East Carson on opening day, I haven’t done much fishing in California. I misplaced my fishing pole when I left home for Penn State as a kid, and haven’t owned a real pole again until last fall.
I remember enjoying fishing as a boy for the solitude and challenge and sweet taste of fresh trout around an open fire. I enjoyed walking softly off trail along the banks of streams ducking trees and reeds looking for pools of calm, settling in, casting, and moving all sense of touch to my fingertips. I might enjoy that again if I gave myself the opportunity.
It’s easy to sit in this chair and talk a good story. I will write about fishing again once I have a few trout under my belt.

Steve Gibbs is a retired Benicia High School teacher who has written a column for The Herald since 1985.

Sharing is caring!