Wellens column: Reeling back into fishing with Jack

I'll never call myself a fisherman, but I've recently picked up fishing again, and am a bit hooked, to use a pun that is as horrible as my fishing skills and knowledge.

I can thank my oldest son, Jack, for my return to the shoreline. He's beginning kindergarten this fall, and late last summer asked if we could go fishing while camping.

What inspired him to ask about fishing? My best guess is from the book, " Pete the Cat Goes Camping." Or maybe it was Blippi?

Whatever the inspiration, it definitely was not Dad, who last picked up a fishing rod as a teenager. And even then, it was sparingly.

When it comes to angling, my experience is almost 95% metaphorical and has taken place at hockey rinks the last 20 years as a journalist. I did earn a fishing merit badge as a scout and even taught a few fishing merit badge sessions while working at a scout camp in northern Wisconsin in high school.

However, my most meaningful and educational experiences fishing were with my Uncle Roger. Those were the only times I seem to remember fishing as something relaxing and fun. It helped that we usually caught fish because my uncle knew what he was doing.

My return to fishing as an adult has been a mixed bag when it comes to finding some enjoyment and relaxation. I wind up spending more time keeping an eye on Jack than minding my own bobber.

My first time fishing with Jack was at Lake Vermilion-Soudan Underground Mine State Park in the middle of the afternoon. We weren't out there long. Pete the Cat taught us, "fishing takes a long time," and you must be "very quiet and very still to catch a fish," but Jack must have forgotten that part of the book.

With every cast, I was met with a question, and I had as many answers as I caught fish that afternoon.

"Daddy, did you catch a fish?"

"Daddy, where are the fish?"

"Daddy, are there any fish in this lake?"

"Daddy, why can't you catch a fish?"

Like Bulldogs men's hockey coach Scott Sandelin at times last season, I had no answers for the kid.

We never caught a fish that day, leaving only with a very, very, very tangled reel following a pair of casting attempts by Jack.

We went fishing again at St. Croix State Park over Memorial Day weekend this summer. I purchased new rods and reels for both Jack and I — something that would be harder for a preschooler to get knotted up.

We caught nothing.

We fished again a month later over Fourth of July at Fall Lake Campground in the Superior National Forest near Ely. This time I bought a few new lures — a spinner and spoon — to try out.

We caught nothing, and to add insult to injury, I lost both of my new lures, snagging them on rocks.

I replaced the spoon and spinner before a camping trip to Sandy Lake Recreation Area later in July, only to lose the spoon after about three casts. I snagged that one on a stubborn lily pad.

I was ready to give up on fishing after that, but Jack wasn't, so we tried a spot at a bend on the Sandy River — a canoe launch that Jack himself suggested.

We caught some fish. Finally.

I reeled in two bass (quite possibly the same bass twice) and Jack (with Mom's assistance) used his Paw Patrol rod and reel to nab a small northern pike — and possibly the same bass for a third time. The next morning before we went home, we fished downriver of the dam, and I landed two more northerns, much to Jack's excitement.

Catching fish was fun and definitely gave me a boost of confidence, but what I've found fishing with Jack is that it doesn't matter how successful we are each time we go out. What matters to him is that we're out doing something together.

Hopefully, Jack wants to continue to fish with his dad for years to come, even after our last time out back at Fall Lake. He slipped jumping on rocks and fell into the lake. It brought a quick end to that fishing trip, and we didn't catch any fish.

Jack — who was wet, a bit shaken up, but ultimately fine — was the only creature we pulled out of that water that day.