I had three offers to go fishing today. That’s right, I live a pretty privileged life.
Offer #1: float a large, super productive trout river.
Offer #2: chase the swelling population of stripers off the beach.
Offer #3: spinning rods, bluegill, and not a whole lot of fishing myself.
Can you guess which one I chose?
Here is a hint. One of the offers came from a little boy who is turning four today. He doesn’t have a boat, he doesn’t understand tides, but he wanted to go fishing with his dad.
So we got up, ate way too many pancakes, and piled into the family van. Two spincasting rods, one spinning rod, and an enormous Plano tackle box filled with all manner of conventional gear. Oh, and three kids.
But as is often the case, we had to take a detour. This wasn’t a detour for donuts, bathrooms, or the toy store. This was a “can we go hiking, too?” detour.
We don’t cater totally to kids on their birthdays, but there are some requests that we will absolutely honor. So after pancakes and on the way to fishing we had to climb a mountain.
No one else made me an offer like that for today.
The trout will be in that tail water all year, and the striper migration is not even at its peak yet, but you only turn four once.