The First Keeper (11/21/10)

It’s funny to me the way certain things stick to the inner walls of my mind while other things are forgotten forever. Our days are made up of experiences, some of which for whatever reason are remembered and others that are not. As time goes on, those experiences that we remember usually are discovered to have more of an impact on our lives, and who we are, than we ever could have imagined when they occurred. A lot of the person I am today is because of the time spent on a stream with my father and grandfather. Life lessons were passed down through casual conversation along with the ability to read the water and place an accurate cast some forty feet away.

Trout fishing began to show up on my radar when I was ten years old. My summers were spent in northern Michigan at a private association that encompassed three square miles of wilderness. Within the association was a campground and more importantly three branches of, what is still today, my favorite trout stream. My father and grandfather spent many evenings’ trout fishing while the rest of the family played cards. Most of my family played cards like it was as essential to life as oxygen is. The card games started every evening after dinner at 7:00 without exception. My mother, father, grandparents, aunts and uncles all played. One would think being around a family that played cards every day for hours on end, that I too would enjoy card games. You would be wrong however. With the exception of being extremely skilled at Uno, I would rather visit the dentist than play cards. So when my father and grandfather would break the routine and do some trout fishing, I began to take notice.

Years passed, my parents divorced and I fished. Occasionally my father would make a special trip to the campground to chase trout with me. While most of my time on the trout stream was spent with my grandfather, he was my sage and I his pupil, my father and I still had our fair share of trout fishing together. At that time a creel was an essential part of our fishing gear. Every “keeper” fish caught would go into the creel to be cleaned, prepared and eaten later. There is something special about a fish fry while camping. Nothing tastes as good to me as fresh trout prepared outside a camper while a campfire burns brightly nearby.

While I cannot recollect any of the fish I caught and kept for a meal, I do recall with great clarity one particular moment the first time I fished with my father. Upon catching his first keeper of the day he released it back to the stream instead of placing it in his creel. The confusion on my face must have registered because he said, “Since I started trout fishing I have always let the first keeper go. I do it in the hope that someday you‘ll be able to catch it.” Today I practice catch and release with the rare exception of keeping enough trout for a meal during a “guys only” camping trip. Those trips are far too few and infrequent, but when they do occur, I without fail, let the first keeper go.

Over the years I have shared the story of my dad and the first keeper of the day with only a select few people, one of whom was Average Joe Fisherman Scott. Scott and I, as younger men, worked together. Sharing stories about camping and fishing, Scott was an avid bass fisherman, we clicked almost immediately. Not having a clue how to fish for bass, I asked Scott to show me everything he knew, and in turn I taught him how to fish for trout. The summer after my father passed and a year or two removed from sharing the story, Scott and I were knee deep in my favorite trout stream during the first ever guys only camping trip. Within a short period of time Scott was into his first decent trout. After a job well done, instead of reaching for his creel, Scott returned the trout to the water. With shoulders shrugged he said, “It’s my first keeper… for your dad.” That was when I knew Scott and I would be lifelong friends.

How or why we choose to remember certain things and not others is a mystery to me. I find it amusing that a lot of what my brain decides to hang onto revolves around fishing. In hindsight, many discoveries and truths about life and who I am were discovered while fishing, and I would bet my bottom dollar that holds true for most fishermen. In fact I am certain that the secret of life will be discovered by someone more intelligent than I while fishing on a trout stream. But then again, maybe it has already been discovered, and that’s why all of us fishermen keep going back.