This one is for you dad!
I recently reread Dad’s book… memoirs of his Navy career. After 17 years of sailing
the world, it must have been difficult for him to finally settle down and become a family man.
Dad had also been an accomplished athlete and no doubt hoped to have a son who shared his sports interests.
Unfortunately, I turned out to be clumsy and unathletic, the oldest of three daughters.
The only outdoor activity Dad and I enjoyed together was the occasional fishing trip, something
that became his greatest source of pleasure in retirement.
However, when I grew up and left home to become a world traveler, it was clear that I had
he inherited dad’s stamina and strength, along with his love of outdoor adventure.
On one occasion my physical limits were tested during a six-week trip in
East Africa. Tracking gorillas in Zaire and crossing Kenya’s Northwest Territory by camel
and on foot he gave sufficient proof that he was physically fit at 50 years of age. But the joy of these
the challenges paled in comparison to the morning I went fishing.
Before dawn, in Kenya’s Masai Mara, I met the dashing bush pilot of a four-seater Cessna on the airstrip near the Little Governor’s tented camp. As we flew low over the dense, wild terrain, I saw life begin to stir in the occasional circle of shambas (camp huts) below. Our spectacular 40-minute nature flight ended on the shore of Lake Victoria, the second largest freshwater lake in the world and the source of the River Nile.
A delicious breakfast of fresh orange juice and fish cakes awaited us at Rusinga Island Fish Camp. Over the last cup of coffee, the young captain of our 16-foot boat announced, “Yes.
if you hook a big one, it’s all yours!”
“The tilapia here is a good tasting meal,” he said, “but we want Nile perch. They look and behave like a largemouth bass.”
Soon we come to a “hole where the big ones bite”. The former ran away from one of the other two passengers on the boat. When the next hit came, I grabbed the rod and yelled, “This is mine.”
The high-pitched whine of the line coming off my reel went on and on and on. I knew it was something gigantic. “Keep the line taut. Reel in only when you CANNOT feel the fish moving away from the boat,” the guide yelled.
He was almost as excited as I was the first time the fish jumped. It must be the biggest bass in the entire world!
I began to sweat and breathe deeply, but the captain never touched the line. He kept telling me how well he was doing.
The end is surely near, I thought. But my fish was not ready to give up yet. Near the side of the boat, she jumped again, glared, then turned and ran for the open sea.
As the pain began to gnaw at my entire right side, I leaned back with the strength of my left thigh and moved firmly with him to the other side of the boat. I was exhausted. “Is it possible that this fish could throw me overboard? Shouldn’t it be tied up?”
Suddenly, I knew I was going to win. “This is for you, Dad,” I whispered. “You will be very proud.” In the heated fight, I lost track of time. My three mates said it took them 40 minutes to land it, all 167lbs.
Hanging from the scales, the Nile perch dwarfed me, but only in size. That morning, I felt bigger inside, much younger, and more important than I could remember feeling in a long time. And why not? After all, I was the best fisher-daughter in the world.
Two weeks before he died, I gave Dad my framed fishing certificate on Rusinga Island with a
photo of our fish for his 85th birthday. Judging by his wide smile, he must have been the best
never gift. He asked me to tell him the story over and over again.
To schedule this one-day Kenya fishing safari, call 800-323-7308.
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