My Grandfather's Fishing Rod

My grandfather Don Whitley was the most enthusiastic fisherman I ever knew. The only thing he loved more than fishing was God and his family, and I'm sure he thanked God every time he got an opportunity to go fishing. My father was one of five children and my grandfather had enough rods, reels, and tackleboxes to split up more than one set between the cousins who wanted some after his passing. Other than power tools, it was what he purchased the most throughout his life.

He loved telling us all sorts of fishing stories from his travels to Baja California to his time spearfishing as a teenager. One story that has always stuck out in my memory involved a free dive experience where he spotted a shark while diving for fish and decided to take a shot at the creature. Fortunately for him, the spear missed causing the shark to dart away with such force that Don considered himself lucky that he wasn't dragged along with it.

He had also learned to speak Spanish and loved communicating with the locals in Mexico on his trips to their fisherman villages. On one of those trips, he found the spinal column of a whale that had washed up on the beach. He took it home and displayed it for his family and friends to see. That bone currently sits on display in my garage. Whenever someone asks me about it, I sometimes tease my guests with made-up stories about my grandfather being a whaler. With Moby-Dick being one of my favorite books, the details of whaling come naturally. At least in an 1840s setting.

The most dramatic story from my grandfather happens to come from a fishing trip he didn't take. He was supposed to go out on a boat with his best friend and some other gentlemen, but he ended up getting sick and had to stay home. The group continued forward with the trip and went out on the water. Unfortunately, a big unexpected storm caused their boat to capsize. The boat was later recovered, but no bodies were ever found. My grandfather was spared that day and granted more time with his family. While he was not there in the storm, he saw this as a near-death experience. It is possible that I would have never gotten into fishing if it was not for my time with him.

I vividly remember when he asked if I wanted to go with him on a charter boat off the Pacific coast when I was in my older teens. I had gone fishing a handful of times in my childhood but I did not have the fishing bug yet. He lived in Tustin California all his life, so we knew the charters in Dana Point and Balboa Island well. I was beyond excited, not knowing what to expect. I still remember him arriving at my parent's house to pick me up, opening the tailgate of his covered Chevy truck bed, and seeing two fishing rods lying across the bed, supported by a 2x4 he had rigged up specifically for his rods. He grabbed one and handed it to me. That rod was not only to be used that day but to use whenever I wanted to go fishing on my own. He was handing down a rod he had carried with him over years of fishing experiences. I still own that rod today and use it every time I go fishing on the coast. He had it custom-made for himself with "Don Whitley" written across it, serving for me as a memory of what he loved.

We arrived at the harbor and made our way to the boat after checking in. After everyone was on board, the boat made its way over to the bait barge where sardines and anchovies were loaded into the bait tank. This was my first experience using live bait and I wanted to use the biggest fish I could find. They always recommend using the anchovies but I had convinced myself that with the sardines; the bigger the bait, the bigger the fish I would catch.

We set sail and were immediately followed by an army of birds who knew we would be throwing bait into the ocean. My grandfather told me to grab my pole and we started to loosen up the reels by letting the current behind the boat drag the lines out before reeling them back. It took a while to reach the fishing spot the captain was taking us to, so I ordered a breakfast burrito from the galley. When I later got it, I took a few bites and set it down to continue fishing. I quickly learned that even way out here on the sea, flies can still find their way to left-out food. So much for my breakfast.

As we anchored, everyone started to throw out their lines prematurely. I say prematurely because the boat still had to swing around on the anchor to face the current, and ended up causing a lot of anglers to cross lines. Some people are just impatient.

My grandfather then taught me how to tie a fisherman's knot to secure the hook at the end of the line. I still think of him every time I tie this knot now. With hooks on, we picked our bait and readied our lines. Then he showed me how to cast as we dropped our lines into the water.

I could feel the large sardine on the line pulling this way and that. As far as I knew, it felt like I had a fish on the line. Well, I technically did. I reeled it in and continued to cast it back out, trying to work through understanding these false tugs of the line. Then a bass hit the line and I felt a significant difference. I had not learned to hook a fish yet, but that did not seem to matter as it hooked itself. I tried to reel it in only to spin fruitlessly as the reel just zipped through its gears. A deckhand came over and told me that my reel was too loose. I did not know what this meant, but was given some instructions on how to correct it. After I tightened the reel up, probably too much, I was able to pull the fish in and watched it dangle in the air over the boat. I was grinning ear to ear having just caught my first ocean fish. The rest was history.

We ended up catching fish after fish from Pacific Mackerel to Calico Seabass. It would be rare to catch this many fish on a charter, but my first day was a great one. I was hooked, no pun intended. My own enthusiasm for fishing was born and I have since gone fishing as often as I can to this day. I now live on the East Coast, but will always consider the Pacific my home fishing turf.

After our bounty of some of the best fish in the world, we took them back home to fry up. The best way to cook these fish is just with salt and pepper in some oil. There are very few fish that I think require breading or blackened seasoning.

With a taste of this adventure, I started to ask my grandfather to go back out with me every chance I got. Unfortunately, he was getting older and fishing started to wear him out. It would not be until I was an adult and married that I returned to the charter boats. I fished in other lakes across the country on family trips, but it was never the same. My grandfather stayed pretty healthy until the end when he had a stroke during someone else's funeral at church. He held on for a month, but the decision was made to let him go. He died a few weeks before my wedding.

After I got married, I started taking early morning fishing trips again on charters. I carried that same custom poll stamped with "Don Whitley" on the side. That poll still hangs in my garage, where I take it to the coast to fish as my most reliable rod and reel. It is a constant memory of my grandfather fishing with me. His passion lives on.