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Dusty feels love of first rod & reel
Tom Stienstra, San Francisco Chronicle Staff Writer
October 20, 2002
Dusty Baker knows about the magic that comes with your first rod and reel.
"A Mitchell 300? Oh yeah! I had one of those," he said. "You had one, too? No kidding. Yeah, those were great times."
Dusty was talking about growing up as a boy, out fishing with your first rod, listening to the baseball games on the radio, hoping for your bite.
I told him that as a boy, in bed well after the lights were out, I would scan the pages of the old Garcia fishing annual with a flashlight. For months, I dreamed of the day when I would get my very own Mitchell 300 spinning reel and a blue Garcia Conolon fishing rod. I dreamed the dream, but it didn't happen. Then, when I had given up all hope, both arrived on a birthday, rod and reel, a moment of shock and euphoria.
In the years growing up, I would go fishing with that rod at lakes and ponds with my brother and dad. On the transistor radio, we'd listen to Lon Simmons warble, "You can tell it goodbye," and catch fish like crazy.
About 10 years ago, that old blue rod disappeared. Never knew where it went.
Then suddenly, while putting a jacket away on a visit to my parents, I found it hidden away in the back of the closet.
I had a long talk with Dusty earlier this year and told him this story. To make it right, he said, I had to go out on a trip where I used that old rod, out with my dad and my boys.
That day arrived this past week. The Stienstra Navy headed out to little Iron Canyon Reservoir, set in the pines and cedars of Shasta County. Like so many days this October, it was a beautiful day, windless and the lake like glass, broken only by the occasional pools of rising trout.
We launched the boat and started our good-luck rituals. One good-luck charm is this little minnow net that Dusty left on my boat two years ago. We call it "The Dusty Baker Memorial Minnow Net." If you catch a fish, I then knight you with the net, that is, tapping each shoulder once with it. You have thus entered into the Kingdom of Dusty Baker Knighthood.
It was just minutes when Kris, 11, had the first fish, a 13-inch rainbow trout, feisty and beautiful. Then Jeremy, 14, had another, like a twin. My dad,
Bob Sr., then hooked up, and hooted and howled with a great fight, and managed to bring the fish to the boat. "Up to now," he said to the fish, "hope you've had a great life." All three were thus inducted once again into Dusty Baker Knighthood.
I ran the boat for two hours, enjoying a perfect day with people I love, then finally pulled out the old blue rod. It is so old that some might even laugh at it, with electrical tape holding on to two of the line guides. I rigged it up with a Mitchell 300 reel, just like when I was a boy. We trolled small bass lures for 30 minutes, and there wasn't even a peck.
With Kris steering the boat, he drove us along an underwater ledge that extended from a bare, exposed shoreline point.
I stared off at the tree line, wondering how many days until the first snow arrives to the high country. A small fleet of mergansers sailed past. Then I remembered my first fish on my old rod, a trout at Lyons Lake near Sonora in the 1960s. Truth is, I caught that first fish by accident, but I never told anybody. It just was suddenly on.
Wham! Right then a trout bashed my lure and just about pulled me in from the shock. It had a 200-foot head start. Instantly, it jumped three times, trying to throw the hook. The trout then dived along the ledge, heading for a sharp rock or a submerged stump.
Just as in my boyhood days, that old blue rod bent in a curve. A familiar feeling returned, something I had forgotten about years ago, the way that rod felt in my hands with a fish on. For five minutes, it was like I was 10 years old again.
The fish dived under the boat, then ran off to the side, darting in zigzags.
Then we had it, with Jeremy at the net.
I looked at this beautiful place, then at the happy faces aboard, and remembered something Dusty told me the first time I met him.
"I really love my dad for turning me on to fishing when I was a kid," Dusty said. "We fished almost every weekend. The thing that I remember the most was getting up at 3 or 4 o'clock in the morning, waking my dad up ahead of the alarm, and saying, 'Hey, Dad, let's go.' Those are some of the best times I've ever had."
Then I looked at that old blue rod. Compared to the Loomis graphite rods I use most of the time, that old Garcia Conolon isn't worth 2 cents. But I treasure it, and like the Dusty Baker Memorial Minnow Net, it's the latest good-luck charm for the Stienstra Navy.
After all, you don't throw away your most cherished memories.
E-mail Tom Stienstra at tstienstra@sfchronicle.com.
Tom Stienstra, San Francisco Chronicle Staff Writer
October 20, 2002
Dusty Baker knows about the magic that comes with your first rod and reel.
"A Mitchell 300? Oh yeah! I had one of those," he said. "You had one, too? No kidding. Yeah, those were great times."
Dusty was talking about growing up as a boy, out fishing with your first rod, listening to the baseball games on the radio, hoping for your bite.
I told him that as a boy, in bed well after the lights were out, I would scan the pages of the old Garcia fishing annual with a flashlight. For months, I dreamed of the day when I would get my very own Mitchell 300 spinning reel and a blue Garcia Conolon fishing rod. I dreamed the dream, but it didn't happen. Then, when I had given up all hope, both arrived on a birthday, rod and reel, a moment of shock and euphoria.
In the years growing up, I would go fishing with that rod at lakes and ponds with my brother and dad. On the transistor radio, we'd listen to Lon Simmons warble, "You can tell it goodbye," and catch fish like crazy.
About 10 years ago, that old blue rod disappeared. Never knew where it went.
Then suddenly, while putting a jacket away on a visit to my parents, I found it hidden away in the back of the closet.
I had a long talk with Dusty earlier this year and told him this story. To make it right, he said, I had to go out on a trip where I used that old rod, out with my dad and my boys.
That day arrived this past week. The Stienstra Navy headed out to little Iron Canyon Reservoir, set in the pines and cedars of Shasta County. Like so many days this October, it was a beautiful day, windless and the lake like glass, broken only by the occasional pools of rising trout.
We launched the boat and started our good-luck rituals. One good-luck charm is this little minnow net that Dusty left on my boat two years ago. We call it "The Dusty Baker Memorial Minnow Net." If you catch a fish, I then knight you with the net, that is, tapping each shoulder once with it. You have thus entered into the Kingdom of Dusty Baker Knighthood.
It was just minutes when Kris, 11, had the first fish, a 13-inch rainbow trout, feisty and beautiful. Then Jeremy, 14, had another, like a twin. My dad,
Bob Sr., then hooked up, and hooted and howled with a great fight, and managed to bring the fish to the boat. "Up to now," he said to the fish, "hope you've had a great life." All three were thus inducted once again into Dusty Baker Knighthood.
I ran the boat for two hours, enjoying a perfect day with people I love, then finally pulled out the old blue rod. It is so old that some might even laugh at it, with electrical tape holding on to two of the line guides. I rigged it up with a Mitchell 300 reel, just like when I was a boy. We trolled small bass lures for 30 minutes, and there wasn't even a peck.
With Kris steering the boat, he drove us along an underwater ledge that extended from a bare, exposed shoreline point.
I stared off at the tree line, wondering how many days until the first snow arrives to the high country. A small fleet of mergansers sailed past. Then I remembered my first fish on my old rod, a trout at Lyons Lake near Sonora in the 1960s. Truth is, I caught that first fish by accident, but I never told anybody. It just was suddenly on.
Wham! Right then a trout bashed my lure and just about pulled me in from the shock. It had a 200-foot head start. Instantly, it jumped three times, trying to throw the hook. The trout then dived along the ledge, heading for a sharp rock or a submerged stump.
Just as in my boyhood days, that old blue rod bent in a curve. A familiar feeling returned, something I had forgotten about years ago, the way that rod felt in my hands with a fish on. For five minutes, it was like I was 10 years old again.
The fish dived under the boat, then ran off to the side, darting in zigzags.
Then we had it, with Jeremy at the net.
I looked at this beautiful place, then at the happy faces aboard, and remembered something Dusty told me the first time I met him.
"I really love my dad for turning me on to fishing when I was a kid," Dusty said. "We fished almost every weekend. The thing that I remember the most was getting up at 3 or 4 o'clock in the morning, waking my dad up ahead of the alarm, and saying, 'Hey, Dad, let's go.' Those are some of the best times I've ever had."
Then I looked at that old blue rod. Compared to the Loomis graphite rods I use most of the time, that old Garcia Conolon isn't worth 2 cents. But I treasure it, and like the Dusty Baker Memorial Minnow Net, it's the latest good-luck charm for the Stienstra Navy.
After all, you don't throw away your most cherished memories.
E-mail Tom Stienstra at tstienstra@sfchronicle.com.
