My Friend Phillip By Dave Anderson

My Friend Phillip
By Dave Anderson
A few years ago I was fishing the Cape Cod Canal on one of those amazing mornings that everyone talks about. Huge schools of mackerel had been pushed into the Canal the night before by a huge school of bass ranging from 10 to over 40 pounds—maybe bigger. As the sun lit the eastern sky a heavy blanket of overcast hung over the Big Ditch and a steady NE wind blew down the chute ensuring an extended bite that might last into the afternoon if we were lucky. The morning bite was phenomenal, lots of eager fish exploding on all manner of topwater plugs and taking swimmers in tight to shore—these are the days I will never forget. But this day had a little something extra that will make it a standout day for the rest of my life.
When the tide started to move a little faster and the bite slowed down a bit, I decided to take a walk to a back eddy location that I count on to trap bait during the faster parts of the tide. I slipped into an open lane and started fishing again, as luck would have it there were plenty of fish there and metric tons of bait. As I was quietly giggling over another 20-something fish tearing line off my reel I felt eyes on my back and I turned around to see a young boy around age 8 crouching on the rocks behind me. I could see that he was transfixed on what I was doing but immediately turned away shyly when he saw that I had “caught” him quietly watching.
I turned around and tried to sound as welcoming as possible, “Hey man, what are you up to?”
He lifted his head slightly and said, “nothing” quietly.
“You’re not down here by yourself are you!?” I asked with a hint of concern.
“No, my dad and my sisters are fishing down there.” He pointed to east.
“How come you’re not fishing too?” I asked.
“My dad says I’m too little.” My new young friend said shifting his gaze quickly to the ground.
At that moment I decided that we were going to prove that notion wrong. I looked back at the young toe-headed boy and asked, “What’s your name anyway?”
“Phillip” he said.
“Alright, Phillip you want to catch a fish?”
His eyes flashed with excitement while he nodded and sprang to his feet. I fired a cast into the rip and began working my pencil back toward the shore, I can’t remember a time I wanted a fish to take my plug more than that moment and after about 20 feet of penciling, wham, I was tight to a fish. I shoveled the rod into Phil’s hands and the battle was on. My 10-foot rod dwarfed Phillip who featured the typical slight build of an 8-year old and he stood less than four feet tall but he battled that fish like a champion and with a little coaching from me he had the fish close and I was able to land the fish for him. Phil was ecstatic, the fish was maybe 14 pounds but it might as well have been 100, because this was Phil’s first striper and, perhaps more importantly, he had succeeded in proving his dad wrong—has wasn’t too little! (Take that, DAD). I let Phil hold and inspect his catch before we released it and I asked him if he wanted to try and catch a bigger one? I’m sure you can imagine what his response was…
“YES!”
This time the hit did not come easily. I fished through a few casts, gave Phillip a few clumsy casting lessons and asked him all kinds of questions about his favorite subjects in school, what he liked to do when he wasn’t fishing, etc. It didn’t take long before Phil and I were swapping stories like old friends. It’s amazing how smart and how observant young kids are, it’s easy to write them off as “just kids” but when you talk to them for a few minutes it’s just as easy to forget that you’re laughing it up with a second grader! Well after about 15 minutes of nothing I got one of those splashless “vortex” hits on the pencil, the mark of a sizeable fish! The rod bucked hard in my hands and I again handed the rod off to Phil. As he positioned the butt of the rod between his knees and tried to lean back on the fish he pitched forward and I had to lend a third hand for a few moments just below the first guide. When Phil was settled I let go and he got to work on this fish. It took about 10 minutes but finally the fish was within sight, an easy 25-pounder, but someone to our right cast over his line, tangled him up and we lost the fish! I wanted to scream but I knew I needed to set a good example for young Phillip so I just told him that these things happen and that we’d try to catch another one.
The fish Gods though, had given all they could for that day. About 20 minutes later his sister came to fetch him so they could go back to their vacation home. I said goodbye to Phil and asked if he’d be back the next day—I knew I would—he nodded, yes.
As rewarding as forging my friendship with Phil was I wished I could track his dad down and tell him to arm this kid with a rod. He wanted it SO badly and he was more than capable, especially if he had a rod that was matched to his size. I also know that telling people that they’ve missed the mark on their child’s readiness for something is also likely to be met with some kind of defensive retort—never mind when it comes from someone that they’ve never met! So I let it go.
The next day was just as good as the day before and when I made my move to the back eddy location I was really hoping to see Phil. I looked around but I didn’t see him. I walked past my spot to the east, remembering where Phil had pointed the day before and lo and behold there he was with his whole family and, he was sporting a new 8-foot rod and reel standing with a posture of pride that you’d have to be blind to miss! I yelled down to him, “Hey Phil, how many did you get today?”
“I’ve had six so far, that’s more than my dad!”
He was throwing a swimmer and having a blast.
Another victim of the disease.

Editors note

John ” I can catch a fish in the road side piddle” Skinner during his early years

lol