Fish Tales...Sepia Saturday

Fishing has been a part of my family's life for generations. If a man had a boat and a fishing pole, his family would not go hungry. But fishing was much more than a means to put food on the table - it was almost a religion, a quest, an addiction. A man could test himself against the water and the fish. If he were feeling brave or adventurous, he could test himself against the Atlantic Ocean, out beyond the bay. No matter that the boat was small or the swells huge, because the big fish were out there, waiting to be caught.

This is my father, Peter, with his pride and joy, his first boat.

This is my grandfather Pete, doing what he loved best - fishing on the bay.

Peter and Pete showing the catch of the day to Susan.

A good day on the water, and a good day's work.

A beauty, almost more than a man can lift.

Two brothers and a son - three men and a boat, a spark plug for bait, 

and a 40 pound rock fish to show for the day.

My cousin Lee, who grew up to be a boat captain, a harbormaster and a master fisherwoman.
Like this photo of her, my earliest happy memories involve water and catching a big fish.

My dad taught me to dig for worms, bait a hook, be patient for a bite, reel them in slow, clean them and cook them and enjoy eating them. I caught my first fish when I was five. I remember. It was something. Yes, I remember - hot sunny days at the quarry, long days rocking on a boat, quiet days on the lake, fishing pole in hand, bait on the hook, waiting for a bite on the Chesapeake and Delaware Bays, and the waters of the Delmarva Peninsula.

The fish are much smaller now, as the waters are overfished and the pickings are slim. But we have our photos and our fish tales to tell. We remember, and that is worth something.

Post inspired by the Sepia Saturday series.