The yearnings began before my school years. My Aunt Faith & Uncle Jim first took me off the beaten path early in life. In the pre-war years Aunt Faith had been a school teacher. Having grown up on a farm in the deep-south, it was the naturalist in her who introduced me to Mother Nature. Both she and my Uncle Jim combined to give me a good case of the fishing bug. In the late fifties they moved down south, but before that, they took me along with them on a couple of Canadian fishing trips – exciting stuff for a youngster.
My father wasn’t the outdoor type, he bowled and golfed. After my aunt and uncle moved away my ticket to the wild places was temporarily voided. It wasn’t long before I discovered northern pike in the waters of Tonawanda Creek barely more than a stone’s throw from my Hutchins Street home. After reeling in my first pike, I noticed they were a smaller version of the muskellunge, fish I had seen my uncle do battle with on Canadian lakes.
On an October afternoon in the mid-fifties, I saw Sal “Savie” Capuano and Jim Holvey seated on the tailgate of the latter’s station wagon. At the time the car was parked below a maple that on the corner of Sumner and Hutchins Sts. The tree’s foliage was a blazing orange, and it only enhanced the scene below. Savie and Jim were sitting on the tailgate, displaying a bag limit of ringneck pheasants. Among the pheasants was a red fox, its coat sleek, its tail full and lush.
It was in this same time frame when I faithfully tuned in to a television show called Sea Hunt with Lloyd Bridges portraying Navy frogman Mike Nelson. Despite his mask being partially filled with water at all times, I wanted to emulate this guy.
Thanks to a few high school teammates, I discovered waterfowling and experienced some pheasant hunting before the ringneck numbers declined.
My pike dreams, took me from north central Ontario, to Manitoba and the Northwest Territories. Along the way I discovered fishing for spectacular-colored lake trout in shallow water. Time spent in Alaska resulted in catching grayling in the Arctic Circle (not to be confused with the polar ice cap) and experiencing total daylight for a month.
My skin-diving began on Cedar Street, behind the phone company. One day I grabbed a mask, fins and snorkel and I was off. Ensuing years led to dives off Martha’s Vineyard, LaJolla (where I finally coaxed my wife into giving it a try), the Florida Keys and Abaco, Bahamas.
The dreams of my earliest years have all come true. More importantly, God has blessed me with a wonderful wife who, since our LaJolla adventure, has been a dive companion on numerous trips, some with our children and grandchildren. Yesterday we celebrated our thirty seventh anniversary.
Unlike my childhood dreams and aspirations, Claudia came along unexpectedly. God’s plan is perfect. That being said, there is much to give thanks for today. Happy Thanksgiving!
