The Sport of Tree Fishing

A few weeks ago H and I went for a hike in one of the area parks. It was a beautiful sunny day, cool and breezy, just the thing to clear our heads and get a little exercise. The trails wind through densely wooded areas over hilly terrain and past quiet streams. Somewhere in the center of the park is a pond and a path splits off from the main trail and circles around it. The pond is not huge and, in total, the extra walk is only about a quarter of a mile.

On that particular day, as we were wandering around the pond, a flash of red caught my eye. I had to really stare at it for a few seconds before I realized what it was – a small, round plastic bobber in a tree. Someone had been tree fishing. If you’re not familiar with this sport, it is the art of casting a fishing line into the tree branches rather than into the water where it belongs. I was introduced to it many years ago when I was a youngster. Fishing was not one of my father’s specialties but he was always willing to try a sport at least once, especially for his three daughters. So one summer, at our urging, Mom filled a picnic basket with sandwiches; Dad packed the car with shiny new fishing rods, and off we all went to the mountains. None of us knew what we were doing and it didn’t take long for our lines to get tangled in the trees. Eventually we cut our losses, literally, by trimming the hanging rods from the lines and simply played in the water. I’m sure the fish were rolling their eyes. I can’t remember what happened to those new poles once we got home, but I know we left quite a few bobbers in the trees. I don’t believe we ever went fishing as a family again.

I wish I had pictures of that event, but I don’t. Instead, I’ll leave you with a favorite picture of my father to whom my sisters and I owe many great adventures.