My Dad and I head down to the kitchen, put on our “waders” (which are very flattering overalls that one wears when trying to publicly humiliate himself), and head out the door. We get into our truck and pull out of the driveway as quietly as possible. As promised, we make a pit stop for coffee, and after we mumble our orders into the drive-through window, we pull onto the highway. I stare out the window at the stars and the empty roads beneath them while my Dad drives us towards the ocean. He has always said that this is the best part of the day, and I have come to agree with him. It feels strangely peaceful to drive down the highway without seeing a single car. For a little while, you have the world to yourself, which is a rare and remarkable opportunity. This serenity feels like a secret that I share with my Dad, and although we barely speak on the ride up, the silence isn’t awkward. We don’t need to fill the space with sound; we embrace it and enjoy our own quiet thoughts and one another’s company. We head over the bridge that leads into Gloucester, Massachusetts and sneak a peak under the bridge to see if we can see any fish “blowing up”. No activity so far, but we still have time. The sun hasn’t even started coming up yet, but as soon as it does, the fish stop biting. This is why it’s so necessary to be up early; otherwise we wouldn’t catch a thing.

When we pull up to our first of many fishing spots, my Dad reminds me that we need to be quiet until we reach the water. Parking on the side of a street in a neighborhood during the wee hours of the morning requires a silent unloading of fishing gear, especially since sound seems to carry much more around here. After carefully grabbing the rods from the back of the truck, the two of us head down the public footpath to the rocks that stretch for miles along the coast. Houses one can only imagine living in line the path and I fantasize about someday owning a home where I too could cast off of my back patio. The sun has started to come up, and this breathtaking view serves as a distraction that refuses to be ignored. The view is truly incredible; I have never seen a sunrise over the ocean before, and it is better than I could imagine. I lay my rod down on the rocks and watch the sun and the surf and the world until my Dad brings me back to reality. He snaps a few pictures and laughs at me for forgetting that we are here to fish.

Apparently the fish didn’t get the memo that we would be here today, so we pack up and try another spot. This is a part of our ritual; we travel all over Cape Ann trying to find out where the fish are feeding that day. My Dad has sworn me to secrecy about certain spots that we fish, but my friends aren’t an “outdoorsy” kind of crowd, so I’m not worried about it. We tiptoe back to the truck and discuss where we should try next. Our family friend Steve is an incredible fisherman, so a quick phone call is made to the master to see if he’s found anything good this morning. He tells us to head over to “Mike’s Point”, which Steve affectionately nick-named after his son, so we start up the truck and head off to meet him. All of the places we fish have nicknames, and I am excited that I have been filled in on those special names and locations. I feel like I’m part of the fishing community, even though I’m a very new member. Most of these guys have been fishing since before I had been born, so I’ve got some catching up to do. I am nowhere near as talented as they are, and I know very little about the sport, but that’s why I’m here, to learn. Ability begins as inability, as they say.

The truck steers us down a narrow road alongside a giant marsh when suddenly we spot Steve’s tan truck parked in a dirt nook off of the road. My Dad pulls the giant truck into the small space with ease and parks next to Steve. Friendly greetings are exchanged, and soon stories are swapped about our mornings thus far. I become quiet as I listen to the two men talk about what lures they have used, how they feel about their new equipment, and where they think the fish might be. Their voices make me smile and reminisce my youth, which is full of memories involving them. These fishing gurus took me on nature walks through the woods of Maine, taught me how to bodysurf at Good Harbor Beach, and finished the days by cooking some of the best meals I’ve ever tasted. They taught me how to really appreciate nature. When I started to grow up, I worried that these times would end and that experiences such as these would simply become distant memories, but then I started saltwater fishing. Fishing is my chance to continue strengthening my relationships with these guys; it also beats the hell out of any other activity I can think of.

The three of us grab out gear and start walking across the marsh towards the water. This was the first place they took me to fish, and it’s one of my favorite spots to go. The sun is up, but we decide to give it a try anyways. I follow in Steve and my Dad’s footsteps and hop over the tiny water lines running along the marsh. We reach the water and walk along the muddy shoreline to study the water for any signs of fish. Birds are always a good indication, because if they are “working” an area, there’s usually a school of fish around. Another great way to tell if fish are around is if you see the “bait” jumping out of the water and collectively moving in one direction: away from the fish. This is an exciting thing to see because you are almost guaranteed to catch a fish if you cast in the school of bait or just beyond them. Unfortunately, there are no clues as to the whereabouts of the fish today, so we are left to our own devices. Our little group decides to spread out and start casting. I wade into the water and catch a glimpse at the ocean floor; hundreds of tiny hermit crabs are crawling around on the bottom, but thankfully I haven’t stepped on a single one. Curiosity gets the better of me, and once again I forfeit my rod to get a closer look at the spectacle taking place before me. These tiny creatures bustle around picking fights, mates, and even new homes for themselves. They fascinate me, but my focus soon returns to the bigger animals I’m after. I look over my shoulder to see if anyone has gotten a bite, but the silence of the morning has yet to be broken with shouts of victory. Oh well, we still have time, and there are many spots in this area that we can check out.

We check out the many spots, use up the time we have, and decide to call it quits for the day. My Dad hooked up once but lost the fish before he could reel it in and Steve managed to pull in a little striped bass, but other than that the morning was rather uneventful. We trek back through the marsh to the trucks and sit on the tailgate drinking water and taking off our waders. By now, the sun is up and the temperature is warm, so it felt nice to strip down into shorts and flip flops. Breakfast is planned, as always, at Sailor Stan’s on Rocky Neck. Naturally, this is my favorite part of the day; the fishermen are able to sit on the sunny deck of the restaurant with a cup of coffee, some delicious food, and great conversation. My Dad asks me about what’s going on in my life, and I ask him questions about history, politics, or one of his many other areas of expertise. I love our breakfast talks; it’s our time to catch up on one another’s lives.

When we get to Sailor Stan’s we order breakfast and talk about Steve’s family and our family. I have grown up with Steve’s son, and we share the same love of fishing and the outdoors. I call Mike’s parents “Aunt” and “Uncle”; even though they are not blood relatives, they are family. Our families spend the summers together on the beach and in Maine, and fishing is always a big part of both of those activities. We try to revolve our get-togethers around things we can do outside, and we have so much fun that I always find myself looking foreword to spending time with them.

When we have finished eating, we say goodbye to Steve and hop in the truck to start the ride home. It’s been a long morning, and I’m looking foreword to taking a nap.

My Dad always says this to me if the day is a bust, and it makes me smile every time. Coming home empty-handed after a long morning of fishing may seem frustrating, but not to me. I have come to the realization that fishing is not so much about the fish as it is about the experience on a whole. Fishing gives people an opportunity to enjoy the ocean and the outdoors in an interactive way. It can also serve as a way to close the gap on generations because it is an activity that any age group can enjoy. I am very lucky that I live in a part of the country where the beach is so close to home and that I have a Father who recognizes the importance of taking advantage of this. We have always been close, but fishing gives us a chance to spend some time together and fit each other into our busy schedules.

As people grow up, they begin taking on more and more responsibilities, and thus their outlook towards life can change. The little things in life that one valued so much when they were young can seem insignificant, and more “important” priorities take over. The wonder we all once had in life’s simple pleasures is lost, and we are forced to become responsible contributors to the world around us. What if we all took the time to reconnect with our younger, carefree counterparts? Wouldn’t life seem to be much more manageable if we looked foreword to simple outings, or even an hour to ourselves spent doing something we enjoy? I am grateful that I have learned that life’s simple pleasures are the ones that make you happiest, and to me, fishing will always be my outlet, my escape, and my peace of mind. My happiest memories take place at the shoreline of the Atlantic Ocean, where I can let go of my doubts and just cast away.