A couple of keepers.

Prior to getting started on this bit, I'd like to say Happy Birthday to Albert Einstein, who would have been 129 years old yesterday. It's a shame he wasn't able to join us to celebrate his birthday at the Pepperoni Grill last night.

There are several folks who have stated and will, even now, offer the opinion that I know little to nothing about fishing. To a certain degree, I would tend to agree with their assessment. I've only fished in one tournament in my life and I can say, without reservation, that I didn't care for it at all. On the other hand, I have some friends who are as severely addicted to fishing, as I am to golf. Tournament fishing, as I've been told and have seen on TV, is extremely competitive and provides the heart pumping adrenaline rush required by so many sports enthusiasts, but that was exactly why I didn't like it. I know that sounds strange coming from someone who has been competitive all of his life, but that's just the way I feel about it. Fishing, to me, has always been a pleasant leisure activity and not a sport.

Fishing in Alaska for Rainbow Trout and Dolly Varden at the mouth of Skilak Lake, for grayling in the McLaren River, and for King, Red and Silver Salmon in the Kenai and Russian Rivers, was a good way to become spoiled with great fishing. We took a very young Matthew with us on the Kenai River once while fishing for Silver Salmon. My old buddy, Dave Lyon, was running the boat and netting all the fish, as I did the majority of the fishing, but at the end of the day, according to Matt, I never caught a fish. Dave caught them all because he had the net and he brought them into the boat. There was no way that I could argue against that point.

A trip to milepost 91 on the Denali Highway brings you to the McLaren River Lodge and after 91 miles of gravel road; I can attest that you're glad to get there. The folks at the Lodge will take you to a prime fishing location out on the river and just drop you off. Standing in the river with chest waders in the rain, slaying the elusive grayling and wondering if anyone would ever come back to pick you up, is a great place and time to laugh in the face of adversity and we did.

I have fished in the Atlantic Ocean, just off the coast of New Jersey, for Bluefish. As the result of some work that took us to Naval Weapons Station Earle, four of us decided to spend one day of our weekend catching some fish. It was an extremely windy day and the water got pretty rough. Consequently, two of us caught fish and the other two spent about five hours in the pilot house suffering from seasickness. It was difficult to keep your footing at all, but to me that's what made it so much fun. Dave Phillips and I struggled with catching anything until a couple of nice Scandinavian gals offered some expert fishing advice and then the real fun began. I caught an Albacore and several Bluefish in the 8-9 pound range and we (at least Dave and I) had a tremendous time. It was on this trip that I learned the art of chumming from one of the ship's crew. He had this cup on a long handle which was filled with some foul smelling bloody mess that he flung out to sea to attract fish for us hardy deep sea fishermen. A couple of his flings into the wind came right back into our faces. Like they say, "It just doesn't get any better than that".

Several years past, I took my old brother-in-law Fred on a fishing excursion out of Aransas Pass, Texas to the Gulf of Mexico. Fred and I spent the morning on a party boat with about 20 other people. As I caught several small sharks, Fred spent the majority of the morning on his knees doing a little chumming of his own. I've never been seasick before, but I can guarantee you that it turns a person's skin color a pale shade of greenish-yellow. There wasn't a person on that boat who caught anything but sharks all day. I also had the opportunity to take my youngest son, Jay, and my oldest daughter, Megan, on a fishing trip out of Venice, Florida. Unfortunately, both of them became seasick also, however to a much lesser degree than poor old Fred.

Megan and I took the opportunity to fish off the pier at Venice on one occasion and she was quite the fisherman or fisherwoman or fisher (person), whatever. Meg caught a stingray and a blowfish and really amazed the locals with her fishing prowess. That pier is some 25-30 feet above the surf and that's quite a chore pulling a stingray up that high.

A couple of years ago, I traveled to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan to Lake Gogebic with my old buddy, Mike Wilson and a pair of Jeff Millers. A friend of mine loaned us his cabin and we had a great time, I even got to howl at the moon for awhile. Mike has some serious doubts about my fishing capabilities and he is convinced beyond a doubt that I have no clue how to operate a trolling motor. He may be right. Lake Gogebic was a might too big for our small craft, so we spent most of our time on a couple of smaller lakes. We didn't catch a lot of fish on this trip, but if you can't have a good time with Mike and the two Jeffs, there's something wrong with you.

Wigs and I fished the St.Johns River in Florida with the late Jack Chaney and had a whale of a time. Wigs became the Eel Master on a wonderful trip that we shall long remember and talk about for years. Jack's patience with Wigs' hook tying abilities or lack thereof, has reached legendary status. Wigs and I could never thank Sharon enough for her friendship and hospitality during our visit. It is just a shame that Wigs led Jack astray and got him in trouble with Sharon. We had a short contest, not a tournament mind you, but just a friendly fishing contest and I am happy to announce that we kicked Mark Bailey's butt.

Mike Turner and I headed out of El Paso on old Highway 20 one time looking for a fishing hole. We didn't find one, but we did locate a small cantina down around Fort Hancock, where we tasted a few cervezas and played pool with some of the local Texicans. They tried to tell us that we could fish the Rio Grande, so we drove a mile or two to the river and I swear, I just washed my dishes in deeper water. It would have to be some kind of strange flat fish or a miniature stingray, because a good size fish would've been dragging its' belly in water that shallow.

For a period of time several years ago, Mark Wakefield and I had some great times fishing the local strip pits and even bought a pontoon boat together, which we kept at Sullivan Lake. Mark is a very good fisherman and had, at the time, access to several remote fishing holes which seemed to be filled with extra-large, king-sized bluegill. I truly enjoyed fishing with Mark because he is a lot like me, he's a leisure fisherman. He did almost kill me one day while we were getting the boat out of a very deep pit, but I'm fairly sure that the rope breaking at that specific time was an accident.

Above all of the rest though, my favorite fishing trips have been with my Dad. He and I enjoyed the lawn chair from the bank type of fishing (with a cooler of cold beer between us). He loved to catch fish and I enjoyed watching him catch fish. I used to tease him about being so intense when he fished. He would be so quiet and focused on his line or bobber and I would be there kicked back, sipping a beer and talking. He would always tell me to keep my voice down because I was scaring off the fish and I'd tell him to lighten up because fish didn't have ears and they couldn't hear us.

To tell the truth, I have tried to get serious about fishing before, but it just never worked. Most everyone is correct about the fact that I know very little about fishing, but to me it has never been about catching fish, it was just about being with friends.