Father’s Day gift came in handy

Sunday was Father’s Day. My two sons, in the past, have given me a lot of great Father’s Day presents. And one or both has always gone fishing with me on that Sunday.
I remember when Brendan was barely four, we managed to go fishing with his grandfather. I think that on Sunday, everyone was more interested in having Brendan catch a fish.
The boys had given a new fish stringer that year and I think Brendan was disappointed it was not needed on that day.
Over the years on Father’s Day, I have received lures, paddles, a life jacket, and a steel mesh glove. The glove came as a gift after my wife watched me handle a large northern pike—one of those trophy fish one will remember forever.
The glove really was intended for cleaning fish, but has come in handy when handling big northerns.
This past Sunday, my eldest went fishing me. We have not had a lot of luck fishing this year and thought we would try some new spots for bass. The winds were howling out of the west and the waves were stacking up in the south arm.
Our strategy was to work areas that were somewhat sheltered from the winds or use shorelines where we could use the wind to our advantage.
I will admit we really didn’t find any bass. The water temperature still was below 60 degrees F and the bass probably are still holding out in deeper water waiting for the lake to warm up.
This could be one of those years where very few bass will spawn successfully.
We kept trying new places to fish, all to no avail. But the fishing was not unsuccessful. Brendan managed to catch another one of those trophy northern pike. It is the biggest fish of his life.
And that fishing glove which was lovingly given to me to carry in the boat should I ever face another over-sized Rainy Lake “gator” came into use.
I’ve often wondered whether the glove would protect me from the teeth that can shred so quickly.
The fish was too big for the landing net, so I put on the glove and lifted the northern under the gill plate. In the blink of an eye and an unexpected leap, I learned the steel mesh would protect against the teeth.
The head twisted around and grabbed onto anything it could. The glove was stretched and pulled, but the hand was protected. There were no tooth marks on my hand.
The memory of that fish sliding down my hand—its teeth trying to grasp the steel mesh—will linger for a while. That gift of a few years ago, given to protect, worked.
Father’s Days are made of memories. I cherish the time I have spent fishing with my sons.

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