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Must've been with the old man at some point (Dad Bomba); first memories of fishing with him were from a boat...we had one for as long as I can remember.
Lots of cod and blue fishing in those days...#^&#^&#^&#^&ie only fished from stripers from shore, so I was to small to go with him until the late seventies.
I remeber him buying me some kids waders in seventy-eight or nine and walking out to Naps. For an eight year old, that's kind of scary!!!
He used to nail them good in those days, lots of fish breaking rebels in half...never took one home because it was too long to walk with a forty or fifty pounder.
Me, I never caught a blessed thing out on the rocks...did catch a lot of other fish, though. Fished every day for two summers straight in 84 and 85...Never started catching good fish until I moved to the Boston Area in '96. Mikey and I lived at the Cape for '95, and all we caught were schoolies.
Anyhow, when I got back into striper fishing (I have always been an addict, just misdirected to the fresh for about fifteen years), Dad Bomba would have nothing to do with any kind of fishing, and believe it or not, Mikey hated fishing more than almost anybody I know.
So anyhow, Mikey moves into my swinging Cambridge apartment for the summer of '97...somehow in between the walking distance to Harvard Square bars, I convince him to go striper fishing with me...He didn't even own a rod, hook, or lure!!!
What a day we had, went out to Bass Point in Nahant (never been there before) and drove around the wonderful city of Lynn looking for a Shaws to buy some mackeral from the fish department(not a very well thought out trip). So we find a tackle shop in the back of a Chinese convenience store (it was hidden in the back of the store, how we found it, I'll never know). We got hooks and herring, and some old rummy's advice to head to red rock in Nahant.
Being half in the bag to begin with (neither of us were driving), we head towards Nahant, and being the consummate Bombardiers that we are, we don't stop to ask WTH red rock is, somehow we end up at Bass Point, throw our herring in, and did pretty well.
This may be a little long winded, and a litttle hijacked, but this is just how I created the fishing monster that my little brother is today. It was one stupid trip, which in retrospect didn't even go that well, but that day we felt like absolute kings of the world. We called Dad Bomba, and boy was he stoked (I still want to remind you guys that at this time I was 25, and still hadn't ever caught a keeper).
I feel that this moment, even more than the first twenty-five years of my hardcore fishing life, rekindled in myself, my brother, and my father the day-to-day fishing lunacy that rules all of our lives to this day.
One day, no big fish, herring chunks...who would've thought???
Rick
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