Sometimes the best travels don't take us somewhere new. They bring us back to the places—and the people—we used to be. This weekend, I found my way back to bluegill fishing.
Sure, I was holding a fly rod this time, a technique a little more sophisticated than the spinning rods I grew up with. But the feeling was exactly the same.
One of my favorite parts of growing up in Missouri was how open everything felt. We followed gravel roads that seemed to disappear into the countryside, stopping at little farm ponds where the landowners didn't mind if we fished for an afternoon. Other days, we'd cast from the banks of the Platte River, never knowing what might bite.
One of my favorite fishing spots along the Platte River.
This weekend, I stumbled into that feeling again. We found a little pay pond tucked outside the city at the end of winding country roads. Of course, everyone hopes for the biggest bass in the pond. But as I watched my line twitch and felt the unmistakable tug of a bluegill, I wasn't thinking about trophy fish.
I was thinking about the little girl who couldn't wait to get outside with a fishing rod. Some places and moments remind you who you've become. Others remind you who you were.
