As a “baby” Baby Boomer (or elder GenXer), I’ve come to realize we had it pretty good as kids in the 60s and 70s. My mom was a teacher, and my dad always seemed to have jobs that allowed him to take off a couple of weeks every summer. He loved to fish, especially fly fishing, so we would pack up the VW Double Cab pickup or VW bus, and head out so Dad could drown bait. Being the very squeamish type, teaching me to fish was a lost cause — but my sister was an eager pupil. As long as he baited her hook.
We went fishing — well, Dad and Elaine did while Mom and I watched patiently or took a nap — all over the country. My Dad liked to fly fish in Montana especially, up in the Yaak Valley. It was very remote, with the only sign of civilization the gas station/bar/grocery called The Dirty Shame. We had to keep an eye out for bears while Dad stood out there and communed with nature. I don’t know what we thought we’d do if we saw one, except to scream and jump in the van. Dad would catch a few and clean them at the local campground and cook them over an open flame.
We also went Up North a few times so Dad could fish in the Ausable River. Being from Michigan, everyone went Up North in the summer — there were lots of campgrounds crowded with other families. Dad and Elaine would fish, him patiently baiting her hook after she caught fish after fish because she was the luckiest kid you ever met. The little ones got thrown back and the biggest were fileted and fried.
We even went fishing in the Gulf of Mexico on a party boat. The first time, we all went, with me and Mom as passengers and Dad and Elaine actually fishing. My mother was terrified of water and couldn’t swim so she spent a lot of time in the captain’s cabin next to the life vests. I spent a lot of time up top getting a sunburn and avoiding the stink of fishbait. The second time, Mom and I opted out of the boat trip and dropped off the fishers at the dock, then scampered back to the comfort of the campground until the boat came back. As the boat came back to the pier, we noticed a big shark hanging on the front and I said, “I bet Elaine caught that.” And she did! Dad grumbled that he spent the whole time baiting her hook and didn’t catch anything. It was a pregnant sand shark, so Elaine technically caught several sharks!
Sadly, so many old fishing holes have gone commercial and expensive, or the rivers so polluted that you can’t eat what you catch. The last time we ventured back to Yaak, the logging companies had clear-cut the forests upstream and the good spots were silted up. The Dirty Shame is still there, but it’s now a rowdy bar with its own Facebook page, hosting a Sasquatch Festival. The prettiest spots Up North on the river are now gentrified, with expensive rental cottages and second homes with “private property” signs all over. The party fishing boats are still there on the Gulf, but the emphasis is usually on the “party” rather than the fishing and not suitable for a ten year old and her dad.
It’s all changed, but for a few decades, it was great to be a kid with a fishin’ pole and a Dad who was willing to bait the hook for you.
