Fish Like a GIRL

Anyone who knows me knows that I am all about preserving memories of times with family and friends. I seldom go anywhere without a camera, even though my cell phone holds likely more photos than is right. I take hundreds of photographs at every fishing tournament I attend or run. We do not get these days back, and I think it is great to be able to save all the digital memories we possibly can.

Although Tony Bartishofski can no longer fish whole tournaments with his son Todd, he still comes to the tournament weigh ins when they are close to home. He comes to cheer on Todd, and his granddaughter, Todd’s daughter, Zoe Treinen. (Photo by Beckie Gaskill/Lakeland Times)

I remember a few years ago when a good friend of mine was fishing tournaments with his grown son. He came in with a decent bag of fish, but nothing super special. I told him to come over to the area where we had our banners hung for the series and get their picture taken holding their fish. He told me he did not care to have pictures taken because the fish were not that good.

“Get over here and get your picture taken with your son,” I said to him, not realizing the next words to come out of my mouth would be: “Because, like it or not, one day that is all he’s going to have left is pictures and he’ll be dang happy to have them!”

“That’s why you do this, isn’t it?” he asked, almost in a whisper. And he was right. I suppose that was always in the back of my mind, but I do not think I had ever actually said it before.

I believe this was the summer after my late husband Rod had lost his battle with pancreatic cancer. I had lost my own Dad two years earlier. All I had left of either of them was memories, and pictures, and I was dang happy to have them.

It was that day that I realized really why I put all of the effort I did into taking photographs and taking video of tournament take-offs and weigh-ins. Sitting here typing this right now, I realize I have several weigh-in videos from last year, even, that have yet to make it to my YouTube channel. I will put that on the “to do” list for this winter once the tournament season has wound down.

The Triton boat Rod had, that I still had for several years after he passed, was a two-stroke. Looking at pictures of us launching the boat, I can still smell that smell.

“I love the smell of a two-stroke in the morning,” was always the saying. Honestly, I miss it a bit these days. Most of the guys, including Chet and I, have four stroke engines now. Certainly more efficient et cetera, but I do miss that smell. I can remember it so well when I look at those old photographs. It is not just the sights, but the sounds and the smells and everything else that comes back to a person.

Cool mornings, like the one in which I am writing this column today, seem to hold an even bigger appeal, at least in my memories, than warm summer mornings of tournaments in July and August. It is the crisp air, the wisps of fog floating across the water, with geese off in the distance — even the manmade sounds trigger memories of days on the water. The raising and lowering of the motor to remove the motor mount after trailering to the lake, the beeping of the Talons when the combustion motor is started before the shallow water anchors stow completely so the boat can move again, even the sound of the occasional old two-stroke Merc as a boat drives past the launch ramp early in the morning, all of those things bring back random memories of days on the water — some of them great, and others… well, let us just say some days are better than others when it comes to tournament fishing. Those cool mornings always get me.

Since that time with my friend and his son, several people have mentioned the fact that photos I take help them preserve the memories of these days. Another friend of mine, Todd Bartishofski used to fish with his Dad, Tony. Tony is getting up there in age now and is not as mobile as he used to be. So now my friend fishes with his daughter, Zoe Treinen, who is grown and married, and is off making her own memories. But they fish together and I take every chance I can to catch them loading the boat, or talking at the launch ramp and, of course, holding their fish at the end of the day before they release them back into the lake.

Do not get me wrong, I think it is important for all of the anglers to get pictures, even if they are just fishing with a good friend. But to me, those generational pictures mean the most, because I know, all too well, that one day, one of the people in that picture will not be standing there anymore. Perhaps the other will be standing there with the next generation of tournament anglers. But all they will have are the photographs and the memories of fishing with dad or grandpa. They will be able to look back, just as I do, on those cool fall mornings launching the boat and trying to fish with hands numbed by the cold until we finally feel the warmth of the sun on our back as the morning wear on, and watching the fog slowly burn off the water. Maybe even the smell of that old two-stroke comes back again, looking at that one special photo.

“Remember when…” is often how the conversation starts. Laughter usually comes next, even with stories where the trolling motor shaft broke or someone fell overboard and lost their phone, or we got stuck on a sand bar or a million other things that have gone wrong over the years. No matter how ugly the day may have gotten at the time, all of these things work to create some great memories down the road. I suppose truly there are no “bad” days fishing when a person looks at it like that.

My last piece of advise for anyone reading this column: take the pictures. Hold onto those memories. Hard drive space is cheap and digital cameras mean almost unlimited means to keep taking pictures. I do not think anyone has ever been sorry they took a photograph, but missed opportunities are just that — missed.

Beckie Gaskill may be reached at [email protected] or [email protected].