The Tackle Box
After my dad died when I was five, I was fortunate to have several good role models. Uncles, neighbors and friends introduced me to the outdoor pursuits of fishing and hunting. I especially remember Bud, a family friend who took me fishing for the first time.
Bud had no sons, and through this incidental pairing, I became the lucky recipient of numerous heartfelt gifts on every occasion, and sometimes on no occasion at all.
The most special of these gifts was a small, brown, metal tackle box I received on my sixth birthday. It was filled with hooks, sinkers, bobbers and several impressive wooden lures for the toothy northern pike that plied the nearby Missouri River.
Later Bud gave me a fishing rod with a Mitchell spin-cast reel. I cherished these treasures and practiced casting in the back yard for hours, dreaming of the day I could put them to their intended use.
One glorious summer weekend, Bud provided that opportunity, thereby creating one of my most precious childhood memories. He “borrowed” me and took me on a weekend tent camping trip with his family. Sleeping outdoors, picnic lunches and a campfire were all great new experiences. But I was thrilled to finally cast my line into water where fish were waiting.
Our destination was Sweet Briar Lake west of Mandan, which, at the time, was newly constructed, dammed and stocked with rainbow trout. This is where, in a fit of wild, joyous abandon that I reeled in my first fish.
My prize was a nice 12-inch rainbow trout. I was enraptured with its sheer beauty and carried it and each of the four others I caught that day around to show everyone, including those at adjacent campsites. But no adult was so happy for me as Bud, who beamed with pride and lavishly praised my accomplishments.
After my mother remarried, we moved to the other side of Bismarck and visits to Bud’s house became fewer. Yet, the gifts, each one specially chosen and presented with great anticipation and happiness, kept coming regularly. None, however, topped that tackle box, fishing rod and wondrous fishing trip.
The fishing reel no longer works, but the tackle box has accompanied me on many fishing trips, including to wilderness lakes in northern Canada and Alaska. Each time I open the tackle box, I relive the joy of my first day of fishing and the memory of the kind and generous man who made it possible.
DALANE W. KITZMAN, MD, lives in North Carolina and grew up in North Dakota. His story is a prime example of what can happen when you “Take A Kid Fishing.”