Fishaholic

I'll admit that I have a fishing problem, I can't seem to get enough time on the water. Some friends and family think I'm crazy...and they just might be right. If the wind picks up real hard, I envision a school of largemouth bass gorging themselves on bait fish being kicked around by waves...I see rain or snow in the forecast and my mind automatically thinks of those metro area reservoirs empty... No pleasure boaters, jet skiers, or rude unethical fishermen. Just a placid body of water filled with actively feeding fish calling my name. Not even when I sleep does my fishing addiction slow down. When my eyes close I dream vividly of catching trophy fish...the location and species changing nightly, but they all have the same theme. Monster fish caught in beautiful settings, such as twenty pound northern pike in the Canadian wilderness, or putting some muscle on a farm pond largemouth with nothing surrounding me but cattle. Hello, my name is Eric and I am a fishaholic!!!

My grandfather, who was patient enough to take me and my cousins fishing weekly was truly a saint. His tackle box was filled with baithooks, crankbaits, and spoons, and many other things that went unused. He used nothing but a fly and a bubble...Mosquitos and Adams were among his favorites. My cousin Jeremy and I could be slamming fish...one right after another using spinners, but my grandpa would just smile and continue to cast his fly and bubble. It was almost as if he didn't care if he was catching fish. For years I didn't understand why he wouldn't adapt to the conditions and give the fish what they wanted. Some days we would catch fish...others we wouldn't, but my grandpa always looked like he was loving every minute of it.

Sometimes I get so caught up in catching fish, I forget why I'm spending time in the outdoors. It's like any addiction...I take fishing in the same way a drunk gulps down whiskey, drinking far too fast to really taste anything. Maybe thats why my grandfather enjoyed fishing and the outdoors so much. Much like a connoisseur of fine wines, he would enjoy every drop...and only in moderation. Savoring every drink for a minute or two just to get the full flavor of the wine. Those afternoons spent fishing for bluegill, or small stream trout will never leave my mind. My grandpa past away years ago but sometimes when I'm fishing, I'll get a whiff of his scent. It's a mixture of a freshly opened newspaper, coffee, and aftershave. It's like he's sitting right behind me enjoying the outdoors while I fish. I'm sure I've caught more and bigger fish than grandpa ever did, but it will be decades before I understand fishing the way he did.

In loving memory of William F. Cassidy