A Little "Tickle"

I recently returned from a fishing trip in NW Montana just outside Glacier National Park.  It was a “guys” trip and seven of us stayed in a remote fishing lodge high up in the Bob Marshall Wilderness area.  No cell phone coverage; no cable TV; no internet.  The trip was amazing.  For six days we fished some of the most beautiful and less traveled rivers in the entire state, perhaps in the entire country.  While hiking early one morning, I came to within twenty feet of a large black bear eating huckleberries from a bush just off the trail.  I witnessed a bald eagle soar high overhead before descending for its morning breakfast plucked out of the river.  We caught record setting bull trout and beautiful native west slope cutthroat trout.  However, what I didn't realize, because I never gave it much thought, is that the excitement of catching a fish is universal.  This is true whether you are fishing Montana's pristine rivers, or a muddy farm pond in Oklahoma.  It is true whether you are passionately obsessed with fishing and make a point to do it every day, or you only fish occasionally.  It is true whether you love to fish, like to fish, or could care less whether you ever fish again ... In all cases there is - what I like to call - a little “tickle” deep down in your stomach that you feel at the exact moment a fish strikes.  A vibration starts below the water’s surface, travels up the fishing line, through the tip of your rod and down every “eye” to the reel and finally your hands.  This happens in the blink of an eye, and at that very moment the hair on the back of your neck stands on end and adrenaline is released into your blood as your senses become highly attuned as you engage in battle. 

On this trip I saw this first hand watching my father-in-law, who has been fishing in Montana for over 50 years.  His love for the state and its beauty is infectious and he desperately wants to share this love with others.  I also experienced this "tickle" many times myself as I fished the crystal blue glacier runoff of the Middle Fork of the Flathead River.  But, still, I don't think I appreciated the moment of this experience.

This past weekend my family had an open date with no commitments (a rarity in a household with two active kids).  So we packed up and headed to Grand Lake.  The forecast called for no wind, so on Saturday I planned a working day on our sailboat - installation of new interior LED lights (blog post about that later).  Gray had a different plan, he wanted to go fishing.  Frankly, I wasn't too excited about it.  But, his big blue eyes are hard (very hard) to say “no” to, so I worked until early Saturday afternoon and then we headed to the Blue Moon bait shop.  Minnows were the bait of choice for an afternoon of fishing off the dock.  The heat was oppressive and the fish had retreated to deeper and cooler water.  With no bites in over three hours, we reeled in and went swimming.  As we floated and splashed about in the late afternoon sun, it was clear that Gray had not given up.  He decided that our luck might change if we rigged up lines and left them out after the sun went down.  That was the plan and we executed. 

After dinner, Gray went down to the dock to check the lines.  Through binoculars, I watched from the lake house’s back deck.  I was hoping to see if either of the fishing rods was "twitching."  Gray checked the first and he yelled up to me "Dad, the bait is gone."  He then walked over to the next pole and picked it up and the rod tip immediately bent and almost pulled out of his hands.  Now focused on his face, I saw his mouth fully open and big blue eyes bugging out with an astonished look.  As he regained control of the rod, he looked up at me and began to yell, "Dad, I got one ... and it's big."  A smile spread across his face as he began to reel in line.  In that instance, I realized that he was experiencing the "tickle."  And, as I began to appreciate the moment of his “tickle” I noticed that I had a little one too.