From childhood Zebcos to a final trip with Dad, this heartfelt story captures the beauty of fishing, family, and fading seasons through the lens of memory.

 

https://www.bassresource.com/fishing/pond-fishing-memories.html

 

Amazing story and so well written . Thanks for sharing.

Thanks, @Glenn and @jbmaine. I ran out of reactions.

Great read,  Thanks

Holy cow, what a great read! Thank you @Swamp Girl and @Glenn.

Thanks, guys, and thanks to @bp_fowler for providing the photos of an Ohio farm pond. Mrs. A's pond was a little more manicured than BP's pond, but the size is about the same. 

Thanks Katie. @Swamp Girl Smile on my face and a lump in my throat at the same time. Dang girl… 

Nice.

@Swamp Girl You are more in touch with the emotions around fishing than anyone I've ever seen. You also have a great gift of describing them in a way that we all feel with you. It's an extremely impressive gift that you have.

1 hour ago, Fishlegs said:

@Swamp Girl You are more in touch with the emotions around fishing than anyone I've ever seen. You also have a great gift of describing them in a way that we all feel with you. It's an extremely impressive gift that you have.

You are so kind.

Awesome 

Thanks Katie, great story. 

This reminds me of reading such stories back in the day in Outdoor Life and Field and Stream. I think they were called “Me and Joe” stories. Over time they began to fade as the emphasis turned towards articles that were more driven by technique, or gear, vs. true tales of fishing and hunting with family and friends. Where the trip, and all it entails, was the focus and not the actual fish or game caught or taken. 
 

We live in a fast-paced society that gets faster each and every year. It’s bittersweet that some will never have the opportunity to fish a beautiful, productive pond like this with family, as they pass from childhood into adulthood, and lose that magical time when a simple trip on bikes, with a rod and reel strapped onto the handlebars with rubber bands, was a true adventure. Or simply the comfort of fishing alongside dad, when he was the rock of our world, and with him we were always safe and secure. 
 

I loved this story, Katie. It brought back a lot of similar memories from my youth. That first bluegill. The annual trips in early spring when the yellow perch started running. The first decent bass I caught that I thought was a trophy. It was probably 2-1/2 lbs. but it was a trophy that day. Thank you for the memories @Swamp Girl

6 minutes ago, BrianMDTX said:

This reminds me of reading such stories back in the day in Outdoor Life and Field and Stream. I think they were called “Me and Joe” stories. Over time they began to fade as the emphasis turned towards articles that were more driven by technique, or gear, vs. true tales of fishing and hunting with family and friends. Where the trip, and all it entails, was the focus and not the actual fish or game caught or taken. 
 

We live in a fast-paced society that gets faster each and every year. It’s bittersweet that some will never have the opportunity to fish a beautiful, productive pond like this with family, as they pass from childhood into adulthood, and lose that magical time when a simple trip on bikes, with a rod and reel strapped onto the handlebars with rubber bands, was a true adventure. Or simply the comfort of fishing alongside dad, when he was the rock of our world, and with him we were always safe and secure. 
 

I loved this story, Katie. It brought back a lot of similar memories from my youth. That first bluegill. The annual trips in early spring when the yellow perch started running. The first decent bass I caught that I thought was a trophy. It was probably 2-1/2 lbs. but it was a trophy that day. Thank you for the memories @Swamp Girl

 

Gosh, Brian, over the decades as a writer, I've received some sweet reviews, but yours might just be my all-time favorite. 

Katie, I am truly humbled by your reply. I’m speechless. 

Great story Thank you for sharing.

10 hours ago, BrianMDTX said:

Katie, I am truly humbled by your reply.

 

You just nailed what I try to do, Brian, to consider fishing as more than how much a bass weighs. Sure, I treasure the big bass I catch, but no more and perhaps less than some of the other moments.

 

For example, one time a pal and I were on a wilderness lake in northwestern Ontario. A storm roared in and we attempted to paddle back to our island tent before the clouds dumped their load on us. So, we were paddling at ramming speed, heads down and digging into the water, and the raindrops, as big as marbles, were frothing the water and still we paddled to reach the dry tent and then, as the same second, we both stopped and laughed, understanding how ludicrous we were. It was a great laugh, tipping our heads back and roaring, while the rain splattered our cheeks, for it was impossible to be any wetter than we already were, so why hurry?

 

I have so many memories like that, which for some, might not compare to a big bass, but I've caught plenty of big bass. 

I always had this desire to be a writer. An author of that next “Great American Novel”.  But desire is one thing and dedication is another. Needless to say, that novel remains unwritten. I have respect for a lot of professions but someone who is able to convey the world in the written word has always been high on my list. Anyone can write a story. Whether it will be captivating is a talent that few possess. You have that ability to place us in those places we’ve never been and experience them as if we were there. The sights, the sounds, the emotions. That’s the hallmark of great writing. 

And you take some pretty good photos as well! 

On 5/19/2025 at 11:32 AM, BrianMDTX said:

You have that ability to place us in those places we’ve never been and experience them as if we were there. The sights, the sounds, the emotions. That’s the hallmark of great writing. 

 

Brian, I spent a week in northwestern Ontario with about a dozen fellow musky anglers and I marveled at how much they loved language. Several of them were men who could surge into violence and the majority of them were drawn to danger, but nearly all of them loved words. I think this is because it's common to fish all day and not catch a single musky, so in the interim, a musky hunter has nothing to do but pay attention and glean all you can from what you see. Just as a successful musky hunter witnesses well, so must a writer.

 

To write well, you must pay attention and then muster the means to convey what you saw. The difference is that a writer must also witness outward and inward, for the full story isn't just what our eyes see, but how we feel in the seeing.

 

One eye looking outward and the other, inward.