The Southern Outdoorsman - A Great Tradition

Today I paid a visit to the 20^th annual Western Virginia Sport Show in Augusta County, Virginia just a few minutes from my home. Even though I no longer hunt, (I do still fish quite a bit) I always find this show an exciting event. It is truly a slice of Southern culture and Americana at its very best! The jam-packed show promotes a wonderful family atmosphere with exhibitors ranging from conservationist organizations, to the NRA, to Crockett Creek Beef Jerky! (My favorite is the “Blazin Cajun”) Many of the booths offering guided hunting and fishing trips are businesses run by families with Mom, Dad, Son, and Daughter all helping out. There was even a fish pond with live trout for the youngsters and I had the joy of observing a young man grinning ear to ear as he jerked out a nice sized rainbow trout.

I used to visit this show each year with my sons, but as they are now grown, I’ve not been in quite a few years. Today my son-in-law and I spent several hours awe-struck at the exhibits, vendors, and the unbelievable high-tech gadgets used in many outdoor activities these days. One of the most interesting exhibits was On Target for Christ - a family run business promoting responsible hunting as family fun. We were spellbound by a video featuring owner Byron Tabor hunting game birds with a bow and arrow—that’s right, shooting birds in mid-flight. Amazing! The show always takes me back to my childhood and the hours my brother and I spent on Virginia rivers canoeing with our Father trying to hook that elusive "big one" or squirrel hunting in the forests of the Blue Ridge. The camaradarie and bonding that occurs between father and son while sharing time enjoying God's magnificient creation is something I would also share with my own sons. Unfortunately, this is becoming a lost heritage in our fast-paced world. Thankfully, some of that tradition is being carried on and promoted by the fine folks associated with this annual Shenandoah Valley event.

With spring just around the corner and, along with it, fishing season, I was also reminded of a piece I wrote for our local paper a few years back. This article spoke of this special bonding and fellowship that can occur between father and son at a place like no other - a quiet river bank. It was titled simply,

Fishin'

There are some activities that are naturally more enjoyable when shared between a man and his son. Here in the South, fishing or more appropriately, "fishin’," is one of them. I can remember the first time my Dad took me fishin'. It was on the Cowpasture River in Bath County. Dad sat me down on the riverbank with my Mickeymouse pole, patted me on the head and turned his attention to more important things.

How surprised he was when, within just a few minutes, I jerked in a nice sized rockfish bass! Ever since I experienced the thrill of battling, tugging and landing that first fish - I've been hooked. (Pardon the pun!) That was thirty-some years ago, but the memory, and many more like it, is still fresh in my mind. Like the many times my Dad, brother and I would take off on a Saturday morning and go "wet a line."

There are few things that can thrill a young boy's heart more than for his Dad to say, "Hey son, grab our poles, let's go fishin'!" Ah yes, the feeling is hard to describe. Fishin’ doesn't fit well with our hurried, worried society today. It has too many qualities and requirements to fit. First of all it takes patience to fish. Not many folks have that today! If you doubt me, hesitate at an intersection for a few seconds the next time a red light turns green! Fishin' takes time as well, something that is definitely in short supply these days! You can't push a few buttons and get results like I'm doing as I peck this article out on my PC.

But the rewards are innumerable. A greater appreciation for the glory of Creation, the opportunity to sit on a riverbank and reflect on life, counsel your son or just enjoy good conversation. I once heard a Christian man tell that one of the main reasons he became a Christian was because of the time spent with his father. He stated that it was while spending time with his father that he came to love his father's values, his father's way of life and his father's God. The quietness and solitude of a Virginia riverbank offers great opportunities to discuss with one's son the weightier things of life - family, commitment, faith and eternal values.

When my son was nine years old, I began promising him an overnight canoe trip down the Shenandoah. Every summer after that he would ask, "Are we going this year Dad?" Finally when he turned twelve, I decided he was mature enough and good enough with a canoe paddle to take the trip. My primary purpose in planning the trip was to discuss with Zachary the importance of remaining close to me during the teen years, avoiding peer pressure, of keeping himself pure (Yes, some still do that in these perverted times.) and remembering his Creator in the days of his youth.

We had one of the most enjoyable times I have ever experienced. Fellowshipping and fishin' with your twelve-year-old son - what could be better? I discovered Zachary was very receptive to my advice. Being alone with me on the river and realizing that I was willing to sacrifice three days and two nights just to spend time with him helped. As most Fathers desire, I wanted him to be just like his Dad; to love what I love and hate what I hate.

A couple of weeks ago, Zachary, his cousin Jesse and I went catfishin’ on the Middle River. We had a wonderful time and caught a nice mess of catfish. While we sat there on the riverbank with the summer night sounds of bullfrogs and crickets all around us, I recalled our trip down the Shenandoah and listened as Zachary and his cousin talked, thankful for my boy’s new-found faith in God and wondering how much of his Dad’s ways he would ultimately embrace. As my son flipped a perfect arching cast across the river, I watched as the bait caught the reflection of a moonbeam right at the apex of its flight. It was one of those magic moments that seem to freeze in time. As the bait ker-plunked into the murky water, my son remarked to his cousin, “Yep, I’m just like my Dad…”

I love fishin’.

(A needed footnote to my daughters: Yes, I also cherish the times I've taken you all fishin' as well . . . Josie catching the big sucker on the South River, Mollie catching a 5 gallon bucket full of smallmouth on the Cowpasture, Olivia jerking out the trout on the South River, and Megan not wanting to touch the "yucky" worms. Wonderful memories that I'll never forget girls, but, as you know, men are the better fisherMEN!)