Thirty minutes with a baitcasting rig equipped with a yellow in-line spinner lure, reminiscent of one that my dad and I used almost six decades ago, was all it took to rejuvenate my love of fishing and to remind me of the reason why. And it’s not the catching of fish.

I had been walking around my humble, one-acre pond, affectionately named “Puppy Lake” by one of my granddaughters because of her family dog’s love of jumping into the water in pursuit of sticks or floating logs, when my mind was taken to days with my dad and friends.

I’ve loved fishing since I was old enough to hold a cane pole before being able to handle a fishing rod. It was a family thing growing up, and so it was as I became a dad. One of the chapters in my book, Daddin’:  The Verb of Being a Dad, is titled “Fishin’.”  My dad, whose job as a self-employed accountant often had tremendous stress loads, told me long ago that one of the reasons he loved fishing was because he had no thoughts of work while doing so. I don’t remember thinking about that benefit when I grew old enough to have true stressors in my life, but I do remember the joys of simply…fishing.

As I walked the pond’s perimeter, I remembered some of the many reasons for loving fishing:  being outdoors, listening to nature, hearing nothing but silence, walking Thoreau-like past trees and through grasses to get to the water’s edge, appreciating solitude. Memories of times with dad, or as dad to my sons, flitted in and out of my mind like the dragonflies that moved from one stop to another in front of me. Recollections of times with my friends when we ventured to creeks and bayous to fish as kids, or in bays and lakes when we were older and could drive to for a day’s fun, darted in and out like the small bass that were attacking my lure, coming from the shadows and returning if they miscalculated their attack.

I felt the pride of placing the lure exactly where I wanted it under overhanging branches (though not as deftly as the past when fishing was a more regular part of my life). I felt the adrenalin rush of having a fish strike my lure and then tussle with me. I sensed the subtle vibration of the lure as the blade spun around the lure, creating a rhythm that traveled up the line, through the rod and into my hands. I heard sounds that whispered from the past: turtles plopping off a log in the middle of the pond, frogs leaping from the water’s edge to the safety of deeper hiding places, and the call of ravens in the acres of trees.

I love fishing. I am not too concerned about catching.

This blog section is titled Philo, which is Greek for loving, as in love of: for example, philanthropy: love of people/humanity; philosophy: love of knowledge or wisdom. My writings for Philo examine “love of” many things — both subtle and sublime — that comprise life and living.