Rich Akin

At 5 AM on December 30^th 2008 Pop passed away. I was there that morning lying on the couch in the living room, near the wall where for so many years his Elk horns and Big Horn Ram mount hung. The woodstove in the corner was throwing heat like it also did for as many years as I can remember. The adjacent wall on the opposite side of the room was brick, laid by Pop before I was an even idea. His recliner where he spent his last days, by his request, was positioned in the front living room, aligned with the TV, near the corner of the white brick fireplace which Pop had also built. Come to think about it, there were not many things in the house that Pop had not built, including the house itself. He was never one to find an excuse why something could not be done. He always shouldered the load. It is now June and Pop has been gone for almost six months. This for me is hard to believe and harder still to accept. They say that dealing with the passing of a loved one, especially a spouse or a parent is a long and difficult process. I am finding out along my process that this is a true statement. I, like my brothers and sister have many cherished memories of Pop. Some of them, I’m sure, will remain as personal treasures that we will privately keep in a special place as we all continue to move through our individual healing processes. There were many great things that a lot of folks did not know about Pop. He had a large group good friends, alliances and associates. He also outlived countless more.

I have realized that nearly all of the activities and hobbies that I enjoy in life as well as the priorities that I place on work, family and key values to live by, were instilled in me by Pop. Think about that for minute.

I have chosen to start sharing some of my most cherished stories with Pop. I picked this fishing story to begin with. I believe only a few people are familiar with it, probably just family. In 1973, I was eight years old. My brother Glen was thirteen and Brother Gary was fifteen. Every spring, the third weekend in May and every fall, the third weekend in September, Pop went trout fishing in the Adirondacks. We had a camping trailer that we set up at a campground and we fished the Ausable River. These two weekends, Pop had learned through experience, were the best times of the year to catch trout on minnows. By the time 1973 had arrived, he had been fishing the same sections of the Ausable for nearly fifteen years. He was first brought there as young man by a good friend of the family who had also fished this river for 20 years before that. My brothers and I were amazed with the ease in which Pop always seemed to catch a lot of trout. We could stand shoulder to shoulder with him and believe we were doing what he was doing and yet he would catch fish and we would not.

As young kids, we were not allowed to accompany Pop on these fishing trips until we literally proved to him we could swim up and back at the town pool, or maybe out and back to the float at Prospect Lake. He also was there to help teach us. It was imperative to him that we learn to swim at early ages. This was not up for discussion. Later on in life we would find out that a close friend of his had drowned at a young age by falling into a pond and that he did not know how to swim. The Ausable River has a lot of white water and is fast moving. It can be dangerous in the spring when the snow run off and rains can cause it to swell into its banks. It meanders through many cliffs and boulders and with the allure of catching a nice trout, it can cause even adults to use poor judgment as they attempt to reach that perfect spot in which to cast from. Pop knew of this allure and he knew we would go after it. This is why us being able to swim was so important. It would also allow him the peace of mind to focus on his own trout fishing enjoyment, something he looked forward to every year.

Pop wore chest waders and a fishing vest with creels hanging on both sides. It was a common site to see him with trout in both creels as he waded up and down the banks of the Ausable. I believe some of his most enjoyable days in life were spent on this river both by himself, with his older brother Don and with his sons and nephews. He taught us all how to read the water and where to cast and how to rig and work the minnow. It didn’t take long under his mentoring for all of his sons to become very good trout fisherman on this river, and others. This story begins on a spring day when Pop and I decided to fish the opposite side of a section of the river that we often fished. On this day as it sometimes was on the spring trip, the water was a little high. I wasn’t too enthused about fishing this side of the river, but at eight years old, I was happy just to be camping and fishing with my Dad. In my first few years, I was still using worms and crawlers. My brothers and I would “go out for night crawlers” with a flashlight in the week or two leading up to the trip.

. I can still remember there always seemed to be more on our neighbor’s lawn near his mailbox. This particular day I was moving up and down the river bank trying to find pools and flat water behind rocks to cast the worm or crawler. Due to the raised level of the river, these places were hard to find. Also, this side of the river had an abundance of weeds and vegetation growing right to the waters edge. It didn’t take long for this eight year old to become frustrated for not catching anything, let alone finding many places to even cast with confidence without becoming snagged. Several times I passed Pop as I went up and down the rivers edge looking for places to try my luck. Usually he was half way out in the river with his waders on and I could plainly see he had trout in his creels. He really didn’t need to come back to land as he could rig his line and even net what he caught while standing right out in the river.

As the afternoon progressed, I did voice my frustration to him a couple times when I did bump into him on shore. He had some nice browns in his creel, as he always seemed to have. He said to hang in there and with the sun going down a little, maybe my luck would change. I headed out with higher hopes after seeing the trout in his creel and started fishing again. There was only about an hour of daylight left and the black flies were really starting to be annoying by now. Pop had worked his way further down stream and soon he was out of sight around the bend. After convincing myself worms and crawlers were not going to work, I made my way down the river to watch Pop fish for the last twenty minutes or so. As I spotted him, he was making his way back to shore. It appeared at first that he was done for the day, but as I got closer I could see his pole was still together. He always took his pole apart after losing his last rig or calling it quits for the day. As I approached he could obviously see my dejection of not having a good afternoon. Apparently, he had just had a good hit out there, half way across the river in front of a huge boulder that rose about six feet out of the water. After confirming that I had not caught anything, he asked how far could I cast my line?

He quickly took out his needle and another minnow and told me to push the button on my Zebco 202 pole and release him some of my line which I did inquisitively. I said “Dad, there’s no way, no matter how many sinkers you put on my line, that I would be able to cast out to that boulder.” He said “I know that’s why I’m taking you out there.” To my astonishment, he got down on his knees and told me to climb up on his shoulders! As I hesitated he said “let’s go we’ve only got a few more minutes of daylight.” I quickly climbed aboard and hung on tight as he stepped into the river and started out toward the huge boulder. I realized after about ten steps out that this may not have been such a good idea. He probably realized it in the first five!

The river was fast moving for the first part of the way and the rocks were obviously very slippery. Nevertheless we slowly made our way out to a point where we were about 30 feet away from the boulder and slightly upstream. The water this far out from shore was up above Pop’s belt. My sneakers were close to being in the water as well. When he found some secure footing on the bottom of the river he pointed to the water about fifteen feet in front of the boulder and said to try to cast the minnow there and be ready! It was very unstable trying to cast from the sitting position on his shoulders as the water went rushing by us both. After three unsuccessful attempts to cast far enough, I could sense his frustration. He grabbed my line and added some more sinkers. This time I put the cast right where he had said. I held the pole high and reeled slowly with huge anticipation as we both squinted in the fading light to watch the line as the black flies continued to have their way with us. As the line went under the boulder it stopped and the slack started to tighten. I quickly reeled the Zebco and we soon both realized I had gotten snagged on the bottom with all of the extra sinkers Pop had put on to enable me to cast that far. I pulled and tugged with no results. I was not strong enough from this position to break the line!

Finally, Pop grabbed it and broke the line. As I reeled in the curley cue at the end of the line, he said hold it there. He reached for his needle from his vest, removed another treble hook and reached down into the water to his creel for the his jar of minnows. I sat there in amazement as he rigged another minnow to my line right out there in the middle of the river as it grew even darker. I remember thinking how long I had been on his shoulders, how far out from shore we were and how much he must have wanted me to catch that fish. This time we went further out and a little more upstream. As he maneuvered us to about half the distance he said “put it right there again.” I made my cast and it was exactly where he said. Again I held the tip of the pole up and when the current took the minnow and the line in front the boulder it stopped again. This time however, there was a strong tug on the other end and it began to take the line upstream! I quickly set the hook and instantly could feel a good size fish on the other end! It began to strip the line from my reel! 

Pop was just as excited as I was and kept coaching me of when to reel and to “keep the line tight!” After several minutes I managed to get him in close and could see he was bigger than any trout I had ever caught, and I still didn’t have him yet either! As Pop reached for his pop out fold out net that he carried I prayed he would not get off the hook. As I pulled him close the second time, Pop got him in the net and secured him! We slapped each other five several times and Pop let out a holler! After a few minutes we regained our composure but still realized we had a long journey back to the rivers edge and by now it was pretty much dark. Slowly we made our way back; I wondered how he could carry me up there on his shoulders for all this time. We reached the shore and Pop sat down for a much needed break. He gave me his knife and I cleaned the trout right there on the river bank, in the dark, in front of that boulder, that I look at in amazement still to this day, whenever I’m on that section of the river. I can’t believe that was 35 years ago and I can’t believe he’s been gone nearly six month’s either………………………..

Happy Father’s Day Pop. I miss you.

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