Dad used to rent a small rowboat and he'd attach the gas motor that he owned. We'd always spend a part of the day trolling the lake, and he'd let me man the controls. I'd usually have a couple drop lines over the side along with my rod and reel, and nothing was more fun than when we'd run into a school of pickerel. I'd be sinking the hook and pulling them in as fast as I could and it would seem like it would never end. I also pulled in some monster bullheads from that lake. Once I remember thinking I had hooked a boot, which ended up pulling in the biggest bullhead I had ever seen. My dad's favorite was Large Mouth Bass, and he never came home empty handed. At home he'd cut off the heads of the largest and let them dry on the clothesline (my mom must have been a saint). Once dry and picked clean by the flies, he'd varnish them and proudly display his prize over the workbench. He would have never considered spending our much needed money to properly mount a fish. I still remember cleaning the bullheads and watching their severed heads in the sink gasp for air. I'm glad squirrels don't do that.
When dad wasn't bass fishing, he was standing in a river fishing for rainbow trout with either fly or worm. Dad passed away about 40 years ago, but he left me with some great memories that I'll never forget. (Bottom photo: My dad with his brother Carl)
US Army. WWII. Stationed in Belgium. Military Police. Tour of duty: 7 years.