They say a picture is worth a thousand words.

They are right! 

All it took for me was one look at the smile on my youngest grandson’s face while he was standing behind his dad’s outstretched hand, holding a nice, pan-size trout. 

That, my friends, was a Grand Canyon of a smile on the face of one proud three-year-old. 

I wanted in on that.  It was way beyond just wanting to get out fishing, it was seeing the joy that catching a fish had etched on Asher’s grin-splattered face. 

That was pride, joy and sense of accomplishment rolled into one big ball of little kid memory. 

It was his first fish, caught with a night crawler in Twin Lakes, north of the rapidly expanding Coeur d’Alene metro area. 

So this past week I made the drive over the mountains and through the woods of North Idaho to take my son and grandsons fishing. Actually, they took me! 

It was a memory I will cherish and never forget. 

Shortly after arriving we were scrambling to find an open Idaho fishing license store in the area to purchase an out-of-state, one-day fishing license for grandpa Chuck.  A whopping $22.75 and a half hour of watching two different clerks struggle to find the on-line program they needed while I envisioned the fish were getting full and would quit eating for the morning while these folks pecked away at a computer keyboard....I had a very pricey slip of paper in my hand. 

I was not real pleased with that price, but for a chance to catch fish with my son Tim and grandsons, Asher, 3, and Emerson, 5 (6 next month grandpa!) I would have shelled out more.  Their eyes were as big as silver dollars and priceless to say the least. 

We arrived at the lake, a short drive from my son and daughter-in-law Jamie’s house, and in no time our fishing “party” had two lines in the lake.  I was saddled with a “spider’s nest” of tangled line and was otherwise tearing night crawlers in half and helping thread them on the hooks of two very young and excited anglers. 

A very short time after his hook landed in the water, Emerson very calmly began reeling in what had to be a fish while Dad and Grandpa filled the audio waves with instructions on what he should do. 

He soon landed a small blue gill, which some people I hear consider good eating but I rank them right along with suckers on the culinary charts. 

None-the-less, it was a fish.  It was Emerson’s first fish.  He had now tied his younger brother after being skunked in his first outing a few weeks earlier.  And he tied his brother in size of smile and twinkle of eyes. 

Asher, meanwhile, hooked another one, this one a blue gill after the nice trout he caught for his first fish.  This sparked an already excited kid into a back and forth sprint along the water’s edge that included a trip trying to jump over one of our tackle boxes and a blood draw from Grandpa Chuck. 

After tripping over the tackle box, Asher got his feet tangled with my pole, which was lying on the ground next to my chair while I was struggling to undo another bird’s nest of fishing line. 

As he jarred the fishing pole on the ground, it drug the line and fish hook I had in my hand, and of course the fish hook found one of my fingers, burying itself up to the barb.  Asher paused long enough to see if the blood was still seeping out of my digit, but it was hard to tell  with the mud and worm innards that were all part of the mix. 

I mumbled an expletive and did my best to assure the little fella that I was okay, fish on! 

While we were “fishing” an endless stream of boats came in and out of the water near the dock at what turned out to be a busy boat launch site. 

Emerson was still smiling.  And so was Asher.  The joyous vibe they produced together was priceless.   

And, I’m hoping, the memory of catching that first fish and having grandpa witness the whole thing was forever etched in their minds. 

My son caught a blue gill also and grandpa was skunked...at least as far as the fish count went. 

I headed home a couple days later, still, I’m sure, grinning from ear to ear with my good fortune of having seen those two guys enter further into the world of worm-tearing manhood. 

And as I drove back to Montana...I was checking out places along Highway 200 and the Clark Fork River, looking for future fishing holes for me, my son, my grandsons and my newly borne granddaughter, who also lives in the Coeur d’Alene area but isn’t ready to stand up, let alone hold and operate a fishing pole. 

But she will be and I, God willing, will be there to see that first catch and the endless grin. 

Give a person a fish, and you will feed him or her for a day.  Catch a fish with grandpa watching, and you will make a grandpa smile inside forever. 

    Emerson's first fish.