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Dad’s great love for fishing began when he was a kid in Haleiwa, on the North Shore of Oahu, fishing from the shore or fishing for halalu on the piers. That was his source of wonder.
On our annual salmon fishing trips to Alaska, I had the best times with Dad for the 17 years before he passed away. The people at the fishing lodge were like family. They took great care of Dad. I loved fishing for king salmon with Ross, Jerry and Steve. They were dear friends and awesome fishing guides. There on the Kenai River, I fell in love with fishing, which was my Dad’s great first love.
On our fishing trips together cruising the boat on the Kenai River, I got and connected with Dad. I’d watch him look purposefully at his fishing line as it bounced up and down on the river’s surface.
Watching Dad fish for sockeye salmon or reds standing along the banks of the Kenai gave me the greatest joy. Dad was the red salmon fishing Sensei. He’d fish at his favorite spot out on the bend of the Kenai River across from the lodge. There, fishing in solitude was his favorite thing to do in the entire world—my Dad’s eternal sense of wonder.
I’d watch Dad fish for hours until he caught his daily limit of 5 fish. He’d always catch his limit, regardless the conditions or whatever anyone else caught. Dad was even shorter than I am, so he’d stand in his fishing waders in the river up to his waist at times. No matter. This 80-year-old Japanese guy was doing what he loved to do. It kept him young in his soul.
He’d cast out his line precisely away from his body; then drag his fishing pole and line along the river bottom in the direction of the current. When he felt a tug on his line, he’d whip the pole above his head to set the hook in the sockeye’s mouth. Now, it was on. He’d repeat the exacting motion whether a salmon was on his line or not. That was his mastery of his art.
Dad mastered his craft over years of practice and repetition. His timing and execution were impeccable. Fishing was Dad’s Zen, much like Aikido is for me. While fishing, he discovered peace.
Time didn’t exist when Dad was fishing. He once spent over 6 hours on the banks catching his limit when everyone else caught nothing. Other times, he was done in 20 minutes. Dad would then teach others how to catch their red salmon or “help” them get their daily limit. I experienced wonder watching him do the same thing over and over and over again. It was always new for him. Fishing was his religion, his faith.
I had bought a fly fishing reel as a birthday gift for Dad about 10 years after we had begun fishing together. Ross helped me find a good reel. I had it shipped to the lodge for our fishing trip that July. The reel didn’t cost all that much. Yet, it was Dad’s favorite gift. Ross adjusted the reel so Dad could reel it with his left hand.
One morning, Dad spent a couple hours teaching me to fish for red salmon on the quiet Kenai River banks. He told me: “Keep the pole tip down.” Otherwise, the fish breaks free from the hook before you can set the hook. I wasn’t the fisherman. Until then.
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Photo credit: Pixabay
