Renewing A Tradition

When my daughter Laurel was in elementary school I would take a day of vacation for the sole purpose of us going trout fishing. I know there are folks who boo and hiss about keeping a child from her studies, but trout flu only lasts one day, and it was easy enough to fill the recommended prescription of sunshine and gentle rapids.

We usually hit the water early, before the morning sun had melted away the mist. The first step into the cold Hiwassee River quickly chased away any morning sluggishness. We were often accompanied by a great blue heron, who seemed annoyed that we were in his river. A small family of Canada geese protested our presence from the opposite side of the river, with the goslings trailing behind the parents like a small feathered train.

We did our best to be careful when wading because a misstep on a slick rock could mean a cold dip in the rushing water. I guess falling is unavoidable sometimes, but the most serious injury is usually just a bruised ego. Although you want to maintain your dignity, it’s hard to look graceful when you’re trying to protect your fishing rod—held high in one hand—while also trying to maintain your balance.

The only other drawback, especially for Laurel, was trying to avoid the occasional water snake. It is hard to concentrate on fishing when a snake is swimming across your feet. Yes, I know they are harmless, but any creature that slinks around your ankles cannot have honorable intentions.

Laurel was about 9 or 10 years old when we began our fishing tradition.

We caught a few redeye or rock bass, a few bluegills, an occasional brown trout, and several rainbows. While fishing was the main excuse for skipping school, we did take breaks to inspect our natural world. We saw crawdads, periwinkles, a few turtles and the occasional salamander.

On equal footing with the fishing was our lunch break of cheeseburgers and fries at Rose’s Restaurant. No finer fare could be found than that at Rose’s.

After lunch we might hit one or two more fishing holes, or we might head for home and an afternoon nap.

As years passed we let the tradition fall by the wayside, and Rose’s Restaurant closed as well. The burgers and fries and coffee and milkshakes may have faded, but the memories remain.

Recently we renewed our fishing tradition, though I am now retired and Laurel is the one taking a day of vacation.

The excitement of a trout tugging on the end of the line is still there, and so is the feeling of helplessness when our fishing line catches on a hanging tree limb. Still, I consider us to be luckier than some who came before us, judging by the number of lures and bobbers we see hanging in the tangle of limbs.

Those wretched reptiles are still around. A water snake is the first thing we saw on our most recent trip. There it was, sunning itself on a log. I told Laurel that I could chase it into the water but she insisted that I leave it alone so she could keep an eye on it. I decided that a lesson on herpetology might ease the stress, so I launched into a lecture about the fact that there were Northern and Southern water snakes, as well as other varieties. Laurel said that she didn’t care what region of the country they called home; she wanted absolutely nothing to do with them.

When it came time for our lunch break we headed to a new establishment just across the road from where Rose’s once stood. The name of the place is Flip-Flop Burgers, and while I am disappointed that our favorite place is closed, I must admit that Flip-Flop Burgers serves a pretty tasty cheeseburger.

I can truly recommend starting a fishing tradition with your daughter. For the record, she graduated from college with a degree in marketing, so it seems that an occasional day of trout flu won’t set you back at all.