About a week and a half ago, I went for a little fishing
excursion with my dad. Fishing season for my dad usually kicks off on the
weekend nearest to his birthday. This year was no exception. On the Friday
before his birthday, Dad picked me up from my apartment and we drove to
Cabela’s. this may have been backtracking for Dad, but it was well worth the
trip. I bought a new fishing pole, and Dad bought—well, Dad bought a lot of
things. He kept reminding me that stocking up at the beginning of fishing
season is an expensive venture. And how.
From Cabela’s, we drove back to Provo canyon. We stopped at a
fishing hole on the Provo River that my dad used to frequent “back in the day.”
As we pulled up, Dad expressed his shock at how low the water was. Pointing to
a large rock in the middle of the river, Dad explained that he used to stand on
that rock to fish, the water lapping at his feet. Now the rock is entirely
exposed, the water barely lapping at its base. Thanks to the sparse water,
fishing wasn’t much of an option at this stop. I did, however, manage to snap a
shot of a butterfly. I wonder what that speaks to about my personality.
Further up the canyon we headed. In Heber, we
met up with my cousin Brad. He jumped in our car and we set out for Strawberry
Reservoir. We drove to a small inlet just beyond the dam. Down a steep hill we
hiked to meet the water’s edge. We set up our chairs and started fishing. The
very first cast that I sent out came back with a decent-sized rainbow trout on
it.
The real catch of the day was a 19-inch
cutthroat trout that I reeled in. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to keep this comparative
monster because of the regulations at Strawberry (a cutthroat must be either
below 15 inches or above 22 inches in order to keep it). Thankfully, we were
able to take a picture of me with the fish.
The trip was a definite success. Between we three anglers,
we probably caught nearly twenty fish. We kept only six and sent them home with
Dad.
The next day, Annie and I drove to Salt Lake and shared in
the culinary revelry. Dad cooked up steaks and we fried the fish for a
fantastic birthday meal.
Being up in the mountains was deeply refreshing for me. There
was something about standing on the shore of a lake (regardless of its being
manmade) that re-energized a certain part of my self. As the evening of the
fishing trip wore on, I walked apart from Dad and Brad and found my own spot to
fish.
While there, I could hardly hear what they were talking
about. I listened to the gentle smack of the water against the shoreline. I
felt the breezes change and bring in colder temperatures. I found myself
mesmerized by the shifting and shiny scales of the water as the wind pushed them toward me. I heard the chirps of animals on the opposite shores. I felt a
connection to the beauty of the natural world.
I realize how cheesy this all may sound. I also realize that
I probably lost some of you readers when I started in on my long-winded
descriptions. But in spite of that, I had to express what I experienced. Dad
has effectively instilled in me a near-spiritual appreciation for the beautiful
world that surrounds us. Being out in nature and experiencing it through hikes,
fishing and hunting trips, or simple Sunday drives are essential pieces of who
I am. This fishing trip was one of those experiences. And I can think of no
better way to celebrate my dad’s birthday than to embrace one of the major
lessons that he has taught me.
