We received this great story from Ken Sim about his son who wanted to try fishing and how it has led into something that has become a passion for both of them. We love it!
6 year old son: “I want to go fishing, Dad.”
Dad: “I don’t know how to catch fish around here…sorry pal.”
6 year old son: “It’s probably not that hard…let’s just go try it out.”
Dad: “…Alright, let’s go.”
Up to this point in my life, fishing really only required a few things: Jake’s Lures, a reel with a left hand retrieve, and something called an “ugly stick”. All of my fishing took place in the distant Wind River Mountains where simply looking at a fish cross-eyed would cause him to jump from the water and into your creel. Locally though, alpine lakes are rather scarce and you can’t simply walk up to the edge of any old river and reliably extract cutthroats with a rotating chunk of metal or mild case of esotropia. No, it seems the rivers and fish in our vicinity require a bit more finesse. Realizing that I needed to satisfy the kid’s need for fish, I reluctantly started asking around about fly fishing.
After some trial and error and error and error, I secured an invite for my son and I to fish with none other than both the local Trout Unlimited chapter president and the treasurer. If anyone knew the secret phrases to convince fish to nibble hooks disguised with feathers and thread, it would be these two. They did not disappoint. We found a small wadable stream and my son landed a 15-inch brown on a dry fly with a borrowed tenkara rod. His first fly-rod fish.
After this, there was no turning back. I would come home from work and find him in the back yard with his kiddie sized 6-weight casting at fluorescent soccer cones on the other side of the yard. All of his drawings were suddenly of fish or flies…or both. Family movie night morphed into watching and re-watching videos on the Simms website. While my wife spooned up the pasta at dinner, my son would patter on about the gear he would need for a successful permit, bonefish, and tarpon trip (we live in Utah). My wife and I woke up several mornings to find him tying flies before school. His friends on the bus wondered why he had pink and chartreuse feathers stuck to his jeans.
My son is eight now. He’s been fly fishing exclusively for over a year. He’s fished local streams in northern Utah, the Provo River, the Middle Fork of the Salmon River, the South Fork of the Snake, the New Fork River, Lake Powell, the Wind Rivers, and more. He has caught rainbows, brookies, a variety of cutthroats, bull trout, tiger trout, lake trout, bass, catfish, bluegill, crappie, chub, and salmon. We’ve done it all together. Last fall I went on a trip with my wife and fished the Madison and Firehole rivers without him. He still has yet to forgive me.
This afternoon, his friends played their pee wee football game in full pads while their parents yelled in frustration on the sidelines. My son and I went up the canyon to try out our new Tenkara rods. He pulled on his mini-waders and we snuck along the side of the stream on our hands and knees in the mud and snow. My brown trout was 13 inches. His brown trout was 17 inches. I’m the luckiest dad in the world.