My dad loved to fish. I never had the opportunity to ask when he started, but I did see a few photos of him as a teenager with a pole in his hand. I like this photo of him taken by my Mom in 1944. It almost appears that he is on mountain top rather than somewhere in Washington State.
I went fishing before being born
My parents were married in 1945, My father did not have a car, but he had a boat for fishing. My parents would take a bus to the boat mooring in Stamford, CT. My first fishing trips were taken in utero as my Mom rowed out into the Long Island Sound.
Learning From the Master
It didn’t take long before I found myself holding a fishing pole for a series of family photos. My other role was acting as a measuring tape to show the size of several large (and delicious) striped bass that my dad would catch in Long Island Sound.
Fishing Trips
My Dad would go fishing on Saturday with his cousin or co-workers. His boat was moored at a dock in Stamford but he kept his Evinrude outboard motor at home. I assume he did this so no one would steal it. It was impressive to watch him lug it down to the boat. After the fishing trip he would run it at home in a metal garbage can with fresh water to flush out the salt water.
You Are Gonna Need a Bigger Boat
Sometime in the mid 1950s My Dad got a much larger Wolverine wooden boat that could accommodate the entire family. We would fish for flounder which were quite tasty. However I always asked my dad to bait the hooks after watching the fangs emerge from the sandworms. His technique was to shove the hook past the fangs.
The boat needed yearly maintenance so my Dad decided to fiberglass the hull. One spring he carefully applied layers of fiberglass tape over resin. For some unknown reason he kept the resin in the refrigerator. It was kept right next to my open can of Hershey’s chocolate syrup. The whole refrigerator had a chemical smell.
The boat would handle very well with the extra weight from its enhanced hull. Later in the 196os he got a fiberglass boat with a more powerful outboard that could tow someone on water skies but it didn’t have the character of the old wooden one.
The Apple Falls FAR from the Tree
I don’t have much interest in fishing. My Dad was the fisherman, I was not. I did enjoy the time with him in the boat, but after a few hours I was ready for dry land. I also was not very talented. It is apparent in this photo taken in the early 1960s with my cousin Jim. Guess who caught more fish?
Tony the Rigger
Smelt are small fish found in the saltwater mouths of rivers in New England. The are fried and eaten whole and my Dad loved them. He designed a fishing rig with three hooks separated with spreaders. The arrangement would present the bait at three different depths. The design was so successful, he made hundreds of these things at night as he watched TV. He marketed them to bait shops in the area as “Tony the Rigger”. The rigs even got a write up in a fishing column.
He liked to design his own fishing gear. The cellar workshop was full of hooks, natural rubber surgical tubing (for striped bass), glitter and plastic homemade lures. He melted lead on the stove to make sinkers. I can only imagine what the lead fumes did to my brain along with the fumes of the refrigerator resin.
Retirement and Grandchildren
After my Dad retired he did some freshwater fly fishing. However he continued to fish in Long Island Sound. At this time my parents lived in Fairfield, CT and my father would fish off the jetty at Jennings beach. He was able to teach his grandchildren a few fishing tips. They were better at it than their father.
I worked at Digital Equipment Corporation in Merrimack, NH in the 1980s. The complex had two large man-made ponds. Once a year they would have a fishing derby for the children of employees. I knew exactly who to invite for expert help.
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Great photo’s and memories. My father was similar to your dad. Loved to fish and there was NEVER a time of year we were not fishing for something. Summer flounder, winter flounder, trout season, scallop season in the late fall and winter, clams in the summer. A bamboo pole at the end of a dock in the winter for smelt. About the only fishing my dad did not subject us to was ice fishing which he never did. But, my brother and I ice fished from mid teens on and I still enjoy it to this day. When our families did mix….I can remember your father always asking my dad how the fishing was up Niantic way. You could tell…..your dad was always after that greener fishing pasture and the gleam of hopefulness in his eye. He knew Niantic lay near “The Race” a famous fishing ground where Long Island Sound and the true Ocean meet up. I do believe he came up a few times to fish with my father.
When my mother died the family treasure trove of old pictures went with my brother and due to a lawsuit he filed (we’ve not talked since) I had no access to the house as the contents were his as the house was left to him. But I know there was a treasure trove of old Thorpe photo’s of uncles and my father holding striped bass…that was always the prize, the Striped Bass. My dad used to tell me stories of growing up in Stamford when Long Island Sound would freeze over, or, of times when Weakfish were prevalent in the Sound.
We too always had a boat of some sort in the family. Mostly rowboats early on but as we got older it was a series of wooden lapstrake style boats whose maintenance and varnishing had a season unto themselves. I have no recollection of it but family lore has it that when we lived on Daycroft Rd. in Stamford (before 95 displaced us) my Dad had a wooden rowboat for sale. Someone came to the door to inquire about it and I supposedly blurted out that “the boat has a leak in it!” Or, so I was told.
We were lucky to have such wonderful fathers and families. And, I’m proud too that my son now is a fisherman. I know my dad would be proud. Wish he was around longer to get to know my son.
Ah the Striped Bass photos. I only chose a few of them. My dad used to surf cast with Ed at Cape Cod. One of them was always successful and we never failed to have at least on meal of Striped Bass at the Cape.
Great story – well said. The grandchild at the derby is Jesse Carr