Reprinted from Matthew Dickerson's August 19,1999 outdoor column in the Addison Independent.
Now here's the thing. I'm all too happy to propogate that image of fishing. Our streams and ponds are already crowded enough without enticing any more of you to take up the sport. So you non-anglers out there take note: Fishing is boring. Really boring. Cold. Miserable. A complete waste of time. Stick to golf and croquet.
My wife, on the other hand, has begun to understand fishermen just a bit. When we head out on canoe trips, she begrudging allows me to drag a streamer fly behind us. If nothing else, the fact that she loves fresh trout adds to her sympathy for my unquenchable desire to cast a line on the water.
As for my two oldest boys Thomas and Mark, they took a huge step forward this summer in their understanding of their father. They don't go fishing with me very often, but now and then I entice them to join me on an outing. A few weeks ago we were at a picnic at a friend's house in Middlebury. Behind his house was a small pond with a little rowboat. After consuming our hamburgers, I grabbed a fishing pole out of our car and took the boys out in the boat. And as it turned out, the fishing was quite good. In fact, about every fourth or fifth cast was producing a fish. It worked as follows. I would cast the lure and hook a fish, then let the boys take turns landing and releasing them. We caught a mess of 6" bluegill as well as a dozen or more bass up to 14". It was the most fish the boys had ever caught and they were really enjoying themselves.
After about forty-five minutes of excitement, I figured I should go back in and talk with my friends. So I announced that the next cast would be my last. Now being the inexperienced anglers that they were, the boys actually thought that the phrase "one more cast" meant I would take only one more cast. Neither of them understood that for a true angler, "one more cast" can easily take up to two hours. Because just any old cast doesn't count as the last one. Only a perfect cast counts. The lure has to land exactly where you want it with just the right amount of splash, followed by an ideal retrieve. And of course it has to produce the right result.
"Dad," Thomas said, when I had retrieved the lure and started to cast it out again. "I thought you were going to take just one more cast."
"Right," I replied. "Just one more cast. Here it goes."
On this particular afternoon, I was quite disciplined and my last cast took only thirty-five minutes. By the end of that time, the boys were finally catching on. (Fortunately, they were in no more of a hurry to return from fishing than I was.) That night when bed time rolled around, I knew Thomas had gotten it. He was in the next room building with his Legos when I called him. "Bed time. You need to quit building now."
"Okay," he replied with a smile. "Just one more piece."