Those were simpler days. A ten year old bundled up in a lifejacket, sitting on a wooden bench seat in a wobbly aluminum boat with a tiny little outboard as we puttered around the lake looking for that elusive prize even we little kids were enraptured by. . . the strike of the Perch and fight of a lifetime with the grandaddy of all Pike.

I will always have fond memories of those summer fishing trips with Dad.