Fishing lines bind generations together

Grandfathers taking grandsons — and granddaughters — fishing is a tradition that started well before we humans started keeping track of time a few thousand years ago.

Fathers and uncles and brothers and sisters have also — without thinking — taken the kids fishing for eons.

Yet, it's a tradition that is always fresh and new.

I had the pleasure of fishing with Randy Woodson and his grandson, Joshua Woodson, on a favorite South Sound inlet last weekend, and it was like looking backward down a very long road.

Woodson, who grew up in Virginia and is retired from the U.S. Army, treated his grandson with a tender, gruff manner that rang distant bells in my mind.

At one point during the day, Josh discovered that he'd left his box of lures about 300 yards down the rocky, pebbly beach.

Josh sighed, handed his rod to granddad and slogged back down the beach without a word.

Woodson watched his grandson — without making it obvious that he was watching — during Josh's round-trip.

"Did you learn somethin'?" Woodson asked when Josh returned with his rattling plastic box of Kastmasters and Krocodiles.

Josh smiled, nodded his head and made a cast.

All this reminded me of my great uncle, A.O. Hill of Chickasha, Oklahoma, who also served as a wonderful grandfather.

My grandfather died before my father was born, so "Unk" stepped in and made my father his son. Later, he effortlessly made me and my siblings his grandchildren.

"Unk" always found messages and meaning and poetry in the outdoors.

He also expected me to clean the fish he caught in Lake Texoma, tie on his hooks — his powerful hands were stiff with arthritis — and to wake up when he woke up.

My "Unk" left us almost 20 years ago, but I still think of him every day. I also believe his spirit lives on in my younger brother Casey, who will do anything for me, our siblings and my daughter Courtney.

I taught Casey — who is seven years younger than me — how to catch bass in a little pond about 30 years ago. Those quiet times bonded us. I think of Casey and his family every day. We still fish together, but we also talk about everything together.

Fish with a kid, and you become tangled together in an invisible line that never breaks.

I could see that line between Josh and his grandfather.

Woodson had gotten Josh a nice pair of waders so he would stay dry and clean — as clean as you can stay while walking a Puget Sound beach during a dropping tide.

The two Woodsons — one big, one small — had the same relaxed, loping walk.

They also shared the crazy ability to keep casting — even when the fishing was slow.

They also had a lively interest in the weirdness of low tide.

Josh found a pinkish nudibranch — a frilly critter that undulates in the water like a hula dancer and looks like one of those rubbery monsters kids buy from bubblegum machines.

Woodson came over to have a look, and the two speculated on what the animal did for a living.

Woodson came every time Josh called. That means Woodson got to see quite a few dead chum salmon that had washed out of local creeks after spawning and dying.

Woodson also got to see a few live chum salmon that cruised near the beach.

It was great — except that the high, muddy water earlier in the week seemed to have flushed most of the sea-run cutthroat trout out of the inlet.

Both of the Woodsons cast like machines, but the cutts weren't biting.

This is the best cutthroat trout beach I know, and I tried not to talk about all the fish I've hooked on the falling tide in that very spot during the past 10 or so years.

The cutts probably weren't even there in any numbers, as the water was still tinged with runoff.

That's my theory, anyway.

Every now and then, a lone cutt would swirl on the surface or flip into the air.

Josh would always speed up his casting whenever he saw a fish.

Finally, Josh hooked a fish, and it felt like first warm rays of a rising sun after a long, cold night tossing and turning in a thin sleeping bag.

Nothing is better than seeing a kid hook and land a fish on a slow day.

It's even better when the kid hasn't given up — and has enjoyed everything about the day.

But who wouldn't love a day with a big, gentle granddad who talks with a soft drawl and shows you the wonders of fishing and the outdoors?

Chester Allen can be reached at 360-754-4226 or callen@theolympian.com.