(For the fun of looking back)

I guess its been since my first fishing pole or BB gun that Santa gave me that the outdoors has been forever etched into my heart and soul. Too bad that we as sportsman and sportswoman, have to fight tirelessly in an effort to preserve such a valuable resource.

Take a minute to look back into your own "Remember When’s" to get a sense of urgency for what we could all stand to lose some day.

In this segment of "Remember When", I’ll share with you one of my many memorable outdoor experiences that has left an impressionable influence on my life.

Hopefully when I’m finished, you too will stop for a minute and think about some of the things you have seen and experienced in the outdoors.

I can remember when I was 10 years old or so, I accompanied my dad and grandfather on a salmon-fishing trip to Northern Michigan. Each year the salmon would make their annual migration into the many tributaries where they had been stocked to spawn.

Since their inaugural spawning run back in 1967, or thereabouts, we never missed a chance to do battle with these giants that legends were made of.

As we arrived at our destination of Alpena, Michigan, my mind was racing with visions from the previous year. Even before the truck came to a complete stop, I was running to the overlook where you could see the action below. Within seconds you could here the lines breaking with the sound of firecrackers as the huge king salmon were hooked and lost.

My dad secured a rental boat from the local bait shop and the owner gave us a hot tip where the biggest of the salmon would be holding during the day.

We loaded the boat and headed toward the bridge. A huge eddy formed behind the bridge pylon and this is where the bait shop owner said he guaranteed we could catch a huge fish. My dad and grandfather anchored the boat at each end to stabilize us in the violent whirlpool.

An hour had gone by and we managed to land some seven fish to 25 pounds. These were big, but not the huge fish that we were promised by the bait shop owner.

Suddenly, my dad set the hook into something solid. The fish took off in a rather lethargic run downstream following the edge of the whirlpool. There was nothing my dad could do but hold on as the fish did what it wanted to. Once the fish reached the end of the whirlpool, it turned and headed back upstream towards our position. My dad gained as much line back as he could in an attempt to stop the fish. As soon as the fish reached the head of the hole, it turned and headed back downstream following the edge of the whirlpool again. The scene played itself out several more times and each time a group of onlookers on the bridge swelled in numbers. 20, 25 and even 30 people now watched and cheered as my dad (near exhausted) battled toe to toe with a fish that even Ernest Hemingway could only dream of.

"That must be a huge fish you got on," one of the onlookers yelled. Overwhelmed with excitement, I hollered back, "That’s my dad!"

I can remember looking at the sweat dripping from his brow and his muscles swollen from fatigue as the battle wore on.

Finally on the umpteenth time of running up and down the whirlpool, my grandfather encouraged my dad to give it all he had in an effort to turn the fish and end the battle.

As the fish reached the head of the pool my dad pulled up hard and the fish turned straight for the boat. The people on the bridge began to cheer louder and louder as they could sensed the end of what had to be the most epic battle between fish and man that has ever been.

I was so proud of my dad at that moment. To think that someone could go through a fight like this one and win was truly something special. My hands were sweating and my knees were shaking together with excitement and anticipation. Finally, the fish was directly below the boat and my grandfather shouted one last command of encouragement, "pull up hard!" He said from the top of his lungs. I was glued to my seat, to afraid to look over the side of the boat at what had to be a beast and not a fish.

My dad grunted and pulled up as hard as he could and the creature came to the surface.

About that time my grandfather fell to the bottom of the boat in laughter as he hauled in 45 pounds of dead weight. That’s right! Dead weight. By the looks of it the fish had been dead for at least a week or so. My dad had foul hooked the carcass in the side and in the current it was like pulling a 4 X 8 sheet of plywood.

As you can imagine my embarrassment when the crowd that had gathered on top of the bridge began to laugh and point at my dad.

"That’s some dad you got there boy!" Yelled one of people on the bridge.

At that point I began to laugh and join in with the crowd.

"He’s not my dad!" I hollered back.

Scenes like this one have played themselves out countless times over the millennium. I can bet that you have experienced many of them yourself. Stories like this have to be passed down to the next generation. If not, there will be nothing left to look back at and "Remember When." Rene