Casting Lines And Catchin’ Memories… Fishing With Daddy

For a lot of years, it was coming home with so many layers of red dirt stains around our ankles that we’d jump in the pool before coming in the house to shower. There were parts of those years that involved running duct work in an attic to help him out on his side jobs, so he could keep taking me across the country with my softball glove. There were summers where it was hopping in the passenger seat of the Pepsi truck and running his stops with him. There were late evenings of holding ladders and running wires while he built my childhood home.

Now we’re a few decades later, and those times have ended. But there has been one tradition that has carried on, and it’s fishing with daddy.

I’m so grateful for the lessons I learned on the ball field and working with my dad. He calls it being ‘cultured or well-rounded.’ I probably would’ve called it child labor back then, but at 33, my perspective is a lot different. All those experiences shaped me to be who I am today. The lessons from those years have stuck with me, but it’s the memories I cherish the most. It was always ‘work’ when we were going to the cow stalls to throw a bullpen or going to run a service call, but when we’d head to the river, it was fun. Even when he was teaching me how to tie my Rooster Tail or my corn-colored Panther Martin to my line, it was fun. These were times that I was able to truly just be present with my best friend, daddy and me waist deep in some north Georgia stream with nothing but water and rhododendron in sight.

After the opportunities to play ball or work with my dad were gone, the opportunities to fish remained. Trout fishing is and always will be my favorite outdoor activity, but I recently had the opportunity to join my dad on Clarks Hill. It was originally planned for my siblings and step mom to join us, but life got in the way as it tends to do. Daddy and I didn’t let this change stop us. I left in the wee hours of a Friday morning to meet my dad at his campsite. After driving through the dark and clouds of cicadas, I had arrived at Broad River Campground. I made quick work of finding my dad’s campsite, and it was there I saw he was already on the boat preparing the way. It had been a long time since it was just me and daddy on the water. I didn’t realize how much my heart needed this.

We hopped on the boat together and headed to the spot he scouted the day before. He rigged the rods and talked to me about how he was baiting them up. It took me right back to all those times I learned on the water with him. It was fun.

I don’t have a lot of lake fishing experience, so here we were dad and daughter again, him imparting his knowledge and experience on me. It was restorative to hear my dad speak with enthusiasm about his passion for the chase of these big catfish we were after. I found myself just listening and soaking in everything he had to say. He shared story after story about his time spent on that lake. His late wife introduced us to that lake, that campground, and how to catch the MONSTER fish, and he was now sharing those stories and secrets with me. I can’t describe how it felt to reminiscence in that way and truthfully feel a part of her with us. She always said if we see a dragonfly, ‘its good luck,’ when it came to fishing anyways. I’ve lived by that on my fishing adventures since she first let my family in on that secret.

A trip to Clarks Hill Lake for GON’s Kimberly Lee produced her personal best, and more importantly it was another memorable and fun experience with her dad.

As I listened, daddy described how he was applying his deer hunting tactics to fishing. He was describing how deer funnel into a feeding area and how he had predicted that the fish were going to do the same thing. He believed that these fish were going to act in the same manner, funnel into their feeding area. He kept our bait fresh, and our rods rigged. Even though I am more than capable of baiting my own hook, he insisted on continuing to bait my hook with his “stanky stank” catfish bait. Daddy had poured some garlic Parmesan stanky mixture on a small area of the boat deck and rubbed the herring through it again and again before it was ready to hook up. He exclaimed, “It’s gotta be stanky. STANKY STANK.” He directed where I should cast my line Trusting his expertise, I did just that. It was just a few minutes, and the entire rod curved and bent toward the water, and I knew it was a good one. Daddy shouted, “FISH ON! Don’t guide the guide baby.” He grabbed his net and came up to the front deck with me. I was reeling and reeling on this odd-to-me left-handed rod, and it wasn’t long before I realized ‘this ain’t no trout.’ Daddy laughed and encouraged me to keep reeling. We finally got the big boy to the side of the boat for daddy to net him up.

Getting the hook out was no easy task, but once we did and I picked the big boy up for a photo op and enjoyed my dad’s ear to ear grin.

What a day… we laughed, we cried, we ran into friends, and we caught big fish. I had never caught a fish that size, and I was certainly excited, but not as excited as daddy. Watching him show off the fish I caught, telling others proudly, “Look what my daughter brought in.”

At 33 years old, my heart still melted listening to daddy being proud of his adult daughter, even when it was as simple as just reeling a fish in.

After that solid catfish, I reeled five hybrids in and a few turtles before the sun came fully overhead. We headed in for a historically nostalgic tomato sandwich at the campsite, only missing our Nehi soda to fill the tradition.

Kimberly with one of five hybrids caught during her fishing trip on Clarks Hill with her father.

Spending that time outside on the water with my dad wasn’t work. It wasn’t stressful. It was fun, and that fun was restorative to my mind and heart. It wasn’t just the fish, it wasn’t just the day off from work, it wasn’t just the lines cast—it was the time spent with my daddy on the water.

Take this as your sign to get outside with your family and have fun. You aren’t too old; you haven’t forgotten how. Whatever excuse is keeping you from going, put it aside.

Just get out there!

About the Author: Kimberly Lee is GON’s Event Coordinator… among her many talents. Hence her nickname the “Force Of Nature.” Kimberly’s Force Of Nature blog appears regularly at GON.com and in GON magazine.