My First Time Fishing

By Steve Jones

I can honestly say that fishing has never been on my top-ten list of things to do before I move on to the afterlife. That changed when, almost a year ago, my friend Kris told me an engrossing story about sitting in a boat, bobbing in the middle of Lake Erie, holding a pole in his hands and anticipating a nibble. Quite intriguing, I thought. So intriguing that I decided to partake in his next venture.

I had been angling only once before, in my early teens. I had received a fishing rod and accessories as a birthday gift, and so I went out to stand on a bridge and await my first bite. Then, unexpectedly, a miniature fish found himself (accidentally, I’d guess) connected to my hook. Not having the guts to remove it, I kept it in the water—dragging it back and forth. Then, in the blink of an eye, a nice-sized pike decided to dart out from the reeves, engulf the mini fish in his mouth and disappear into the murky depths of the river, stripping my nice new shiny pole from my hands in the process. So, my fishing experience consisted of a single brief, distant and inauspicious memory.

Despite that, I found myself driving toward a charter boat in Lake Erie and my second fishing attempt. As we approached the small fishing town of Portage, Ohio, Kris decided to tell me about the mayfly, an insect that plays a big part in the walleye’s booming population. Then, what I thought was rain began hitting the windscreen. But instead of being precipitation, the thuds against the glass were this infamous insect.

The mayfly lays its eggs on the water’s surface, and they gently sink to the depths before returning to the surface when they are ready to hatch. As the newly christened flies take flight for the first time, they instantly begin the egg-laying cycle again. It is this process that provides the walleye with plentiful provisions.

While I bobbed and weaved my way through their crazy flight patterns to pick up our fishing licenses at a local store, it was explained to me that the mayfly has a life span of 24 hours and only rear their heads for a couple of weeks during the summer season. I was also informed that they are TOTALLY harmless.

When we arrived at our cabin, which was conveniently positioned within walking distance of a pub, I exited the car cringing from all the mayflies. We made the short walk to the drinking hole, where we met up with the other men in our chartering group. When I saw people sitting outside and ignoring the swarming insects, I realized I should try to forget about the mayflies.

With the next few hours devoted to drinking and talking, I learned that Jimmy, Mike and Tyler were actually a nice group of people. The next morning, I was removed from my bed as the sun started to rise. Dazed and confused from only a couple of hours of shuteye, I found myself at Brands’ Dry Dock Marina, looking out at an awful display of dark clouds, choppy water and Captain Dave wielding a leaf blower in an attempt to remove as many mayflies as possible from his 30-foot Sportcraft, The Fin.

We boarded the boat and set out for a predetermined fishing spot. Avoiding an ominous cloud, Dave trekked us out about 30 miles with a small posse of skippers in our wake—all of them trailing Dave due to his years of experience and lofty reputation amongst local fishermen.

Then the engine stopped: we had arrived at our fishing spot. My companions grabbed for worms and baited lines, positioned themselves in various areas of the boat and began to fish. Before I had a chance to reach for my rod, Dave had baited the hook and was handing it to me with instructions on how to bait and cast and how best to catch a fish. Confident that I had a great understanding of the process, I whipped my worm out in to the lake. When I heard the plopping sound of my bait hitting the water, I began to count to 12 before slowly reeling in my worm. This process was repeated a number of times, with Captain Dave magically appearing when I needed help or advice.

Everything was quiet and peaceful on The Fin until I heard some excited cheers behind me: Mike, a 17-year-veteran on Captain Dave’s boat, had hooked his first walleye, and Dave was there to guide it into a waiting net. The excitement continued as the others kept reeling in walleye, as well as the occasional sheepshead. Eventually I landed my own fish, and that only made me itch for more. Many seemed to escape my clutches, as I found myself reacting to nibbles and disappearing worms in an almost frantic attempt to be crowned the “kingfisher.”

Moving around the lake in search of better fishing holes, Captain Dave ensured that there were always ample fish to catch. He took us 20 miles further out from the marina and constantly gave advice to other captains about other fishing spots. The son of a fisherman, Dave was brought up on the lake, purchased his first boat in 1981 and has since become his own captain, gaining the respect of many of his Lake Erie colleagues.

Due to the unfortunate weather, the fishing was slower than expected. That meant we never reached the legal quota for the boat and remained out on the water for longer than anticipated. When we embarked on the long voyage back to the harbor, I found the cushioned engine casing a comfortable place to “rest my eyes.”

Back at the cabin, I had surely caught the fishing bug and was looking forward to day two. We grilled a bit, and then fatigue took over. We passed out early, woke in the evening for a brief excursion to the local bar and returned to the cabin for some adequate shuteye before a second day of angling.

The next morning, we awoke alert and chirpy. Unfortunately, we were rewarded with an absolute scorcher of a day. Even with the sun just peering over the horizon, the sky displayed a brilliant cloudless blue aura and the heat instantly had me sweating. In addition to being uncomfortable, these weren’t ideal fishing conditions.

Arriving back at the marina’s edge, we mounted The Fin and headed back out to the middle of Lake Erie under the subdued guidance of Captain Dave. The weather gave me time to speak with Dave about many humorous boating experiences. But as Dave pointed out in a gentle manner, he is meticulous about running a tight ship where there’s little room for error. His main focus is the safety of those in his care. Anyone not adhering to boat rules won’t last on The Fin: Dave will pack up the equipment and return to the marina.

In our case, Dave’s professional manner and dry sense of humor definitely made for a more enjoyable time out on the lake. We always seemed to be where the fish were, and Dave was always there with the advice and equipment we needed. Despite my inexperience and constant errors, he helped me without ever belittling me. At one point, thinking that I had a bite, I was reeling in the last few feet of my line when excitement took over: I whipped back my rod, causing the hook to fly behind me and catch itself on Dave’s sleeve. He handled my carelessness kindly, removing the hook and helping me get back to fishing.

At the end of that second day, we returned to the marina, offloaded our walleye catch, carried them the short distance to the cleaning and filleting station and then distributed them equally—an act of generosity by my fishing companions. I may not have caught as many as them, but I’d say I had as much fun. A lot of the credit for that goes to Captain Dave.

A U.S. Coast Guard licensed captain, he provides services throughout the year, though the best walleye fishing is from April through the middle of August. He also offers smallmouth bass and perch fishing, which is best from August thru October. Captain Dave’s service caters to groups of up to six and his boat is fully loaded with the latest equipment.

The Fin and Captain Dave Vargo make a great team to go sportfishing with. I know he turned me, for one, into a new fishing enthusiast: before turning our backs on Dave, we all booked a return trip for next year.