Jerad Sorber

It would be a cliché to say that fishing is my passion, it would also be inaccurate. Fishing is a part of my identity, it’s part of who I am. My earliest memory is reeling in my first chinook on my grandpa’s boat. My parents had dropped me off on the way to work and grandpa had an adventure planned.

When the rod went down he left the rod in the holder while I cranked the reel. Some advice is timeless and his shouts of “don’t stop reeling” still echo across boats everywhere. When the fish was netted and on the deck he smiled, told me good job and covered it with a damp burlap sack to keep it cool. Somewhere in a shoebox there is still a picture of me holding up one end of the handle of a garden hoe with the other end rested on a wheelbarrow and the fish hung in between. That fish was nearly as big as I was and it had hooked me as much as I had hooked it. Even now, after thousands of fish ranging from trout to sturgeon, I feel that same sense of excitement every time the line goes tight.

While I learned about knots, lures, presentation, reading water and tactics from my grandfather and father. They also taught me that the most important part of fishing isn’t the fish. It’s being connected to the water, to nature, the people you share time with, and the world around you. The best parts of fishing are the moments spent with your son or daughter when they feel that line go tight for the first time. It’s watching as your best friend’s eyes go wide when the fish rises up out of the water or takes a long run. It’s that ear to ear grin on your parent’s face coupled with a deep sigh of relief when the net finally contains that shimmering collection of scales. It’s the stories told while waiting for some action to happen. It’s watching seabirds, otters and seals play and feed. It’s watching the seasons change along the shoreline. It’s meeting with new friends and old around a shared past time. Sharing all of this is with others is why I keep on wandering.