Early spring on the Cuyahoga River

This is one of those classic fishing stories that needs to be retold each time it happens. Every fisher thinks it has only happened to him, or her. I opted to fish the Cuyahoga River in the Cuyahoga Valley National Park this morning, in hopes of fooling a steelhead trout into thinking the fly pattern I was using was the real deal. I worked an area of Tinker’s Creek 150 yards up from where it dumps into the river. The spot has all the signs of being great steelhead water. Today was not the day. I did manage to catch one freshwater bonefish (i.e. a sucker) of about two pounds.
As I moved closer to the mouth of the creek, two guys in a kayak came ‘round the corner and wedged their boat into the bank so they could both cast into the confluence of the two streams. I was a bit envious of their spot, however, I figured they’d not have any luck, either.
Right on cue one of the guys tied into a nice smallmouth bass. Then the other guy picked up another smallie. Was it possible that they might know something about fishing I did not? Couldn’t happen. At about the same time, a grandfather/grandson combo moved in to fish the same hole from the shore, at a rather precarious spot.
The guys in the kayak drifted off. I heard the granddad (who must have been hard of hearing since he spoke so loudly) tell the kid, “Now don’t throw your line over by those logs ‘cause you’ll only get all fouled up.” He really did say, “foul” so I figured he was not a modern grandpa.
The kid, of course, did exactly as he was told not to do. He had some sort of spinning rod and appeared to be able to toss his bait a mile. I watched the line sail through the air, directly at, yet just missing, an overhanging tree limb. Gramps was upset. “Now there ya go! Now you’ll get all snagged and how are we gonna get ya off those logs?”
True to the tale, the kid hooks up with a fish—a nice fish. I watched his line running up and down stream. Gramps scampered for the landing net. The kid had a smile I could see from 100 yards away. I know he’ll always remember this sunny spring day. The time he was fishing with gramps and … And he’ll retell this story, just as I am doing now, 60 years after my dad told me not to toss my lure near a weed bed in some unnamed lake in Indiana, and I caught the largest northern pike I’ve ever caught.