When I was very young, perhaps 5 or so, my parents rented a small cabin on Schroon Lake in the Adirondacks. Each summer, my parents would pack up their small family, load us in their 1955 Dodge and cart us off from East Haven, Connecticut to the shores of the lake. Located on the easterly side of the lake, we would enjoy swimming, shuffle board, water skiing and boating. (Even on a rainy day we could go play ping pong in the club house.)

It was here I learned to fish. My father (or mother) would take me out in this little wooden row boat. My first recollections of fishing that one day we caught a sunfish, a bullhead and yellow perch. But the fun part was not putting night crawlers on a hook or watching the bobber dip as fish played with it. It was the excitement of hauling in my very first fish.

We brought these fish into shore. Beaching the boat, I could not wait to show my mother. She was not…so impressed. But my father took me to a wooden table next to an outside sink. From there he showed me how to cut heads off, remove fins and scales and gut these fish.

I will never forget the smell of batter dipped fish cooked on an outside fire.

For many a year my dad would take us kids fishing. He would fish a stream or a brook, but I think his heart was in, climbing into a boat, baiting a hook and waiting for that bobber to go under. Over the years I caught many a fish, but I am pretty sure nothing ever smelled as good, tasted as good or created such a fun time for me as that first time.