Our 6-year-old wasn’t happy about leaving the fishsite this fall. What kid wants to give up daily skiff rides and building driftwood forts and beach fires for alarm clocks and classrooms?
To ease his reluctance, I let him pick out his first real fishing pole when we were back in Kodiak. His little brother, Luke, inherited the rusty push-button rod with Star Wars sound effects that no longer casts but is still good for poking at things.
Grandpa wasn’t sure that Liam was ready to bring in a silver, and it’s true I spent a good part of our first trips to the river untangling his hook from alders and steering Luke and the dogs away from his erratic casting.
But when Liam backed a 12-pounder onto the gravel, and we drove that silver straight to Grandpa’s, and when, every day during journal time for the first month of first grade, Liam drew fishing scenes — I could see the river, the flight and fall of each shining lure, the beauty of those salmon, the praise over dinner — all becoming a part of my son’s story.
Read the full story at the Alaska Dispatch>>