My first 20#er from the shore. I sat on the same rock at Orient point for two weeks fishing all day. ( I was 8 years old (weighing a meager 50#myself), summer of 1965) My mother thought I was a bizarre kid who was a fishaholic but my dad fully understood, and said, he'll be fine there, just leave him be and they would come to the beach for a few hours each day and leave left me there but would check on me looking over the bluff every couple hours. At 8 my conventional casting skills were not that refined, I could do it but my distance was not that great (look at those arms!)... but dad could send it out there a mile, he got me situated, and said, don't reel this in unless there is something on the other end. I sat on the rock with that rod for hours, they went back. Late in the afternoon one day, I hooked up with a bass. I dragged that fish home up the bluff, into the house, across the living room rug and into the bathroom and put in in the bathtub until my parents came back, they had gone to the farm stand to get dinner. The entire fight is still etched in my brain to this day. I had caught a few other fish, mainly fluke and a couple bluefish but this is what I had been waiting for.
While nearby a few years ago, I went back to that rock and climbed back up on to it and sat down and thought back about what that moment created and the bass that followed. I weigh 195# now, if I could catch a bass proportionally the same today how big it would be?....it turns out to be exactly 78# , gee where have I heard that number before? Maybe I need to gain a few more pounds
There have been some great memories I have shared with my kids as well, but this is where it all started.