Size Really Does Matter

I am quite certain the title of this blog entry has raised more than a few eyebrows and furled a few foreheads. A number of the readers may be frantically scanning the document seeking the definitive answer to this age old question. As for the rest of my readers, and most likely the majority, a certain degree of puzzlement has crinkled their noses in disgust as they cannot begin to fathom how such a topic could relate to my precious seven year old son.

Yet, if you shall momentarily indulge the indiscretion of my title, you shall soon learn how in both cases it is quite apropos. For not only have I revealed the definitive answer to this perplexing question, but I shall also demonstrate how it is quite applicable to recent events in our lives.

To reach this definitive conclusion, you must follow me INTO THE WILD....



When I beckon you to follow me into the wild, I am not talking about some pansy trip to the local suburban hiking trail or mountain biking autobahn. No, I am talking real roughing it in the wild Rocky Mountains.

If you don't believe me, how about this for proof:

No Television
No Electricity
No Internet
No Wii
and NO CELL PHONE SIGNAL (no...I couldn't "hear you now").

Now can you possibly imagine the hardships we endured under such rugged conditions? We even had a run-in with serious wild animals (more on this later)...

Prior to the start of summer, Brayden and I discussed what we would like to do this summer. Did we want to take another road trip to national parks as we did the summer of 2008? Or did he prefer activities around home? We also had the uncertainty of our little butterfly's condition for the summer, which was quickly answered less than a week into summer break. After a moment of thought, Brayden said he didn't want to do another road trip this year, dictating to me in no uncertain terms that we will take a road trip "every other year". That at least makes the summers of 2010, 2012, 2014, 2016, 2018... already planned out. Then Brayden said the two words I most feared: camping and fishing. Terror surged through my body as I realized that two of the activities I rather don't enjoy much would be the lynchpins of our summer vacation.

Camping and Fishing

To minimize the unpleasantness of this summer agenda, I suggested we include some lake kayaking to our summer of fun, an activity I rather enjoy. With the full arsenal of a Stanford education at my disposal, I was inspired with a brilliant idea: we can accomplish all three at one time. We shall go camping at a lake where we can fish in our kayak. With one bold stroke I had reduced the damage to a handful of days while filling a seven year old with pure joy.

With camping gear and fishing tackle in tow, and a rented kayak on our rooftop, Brayden and I set out on our great excursion into the wild on July 20, 2009. Destination: Chambers Lake Campground about 50 miles west of Fort Collins, CO, winding our way up like a snake through Poudre Canyon to an elevation of 9,200 feet above sea level.



Now, everyone who is anyone knows the story of "The Boy Who Cried Wolf". The timeless fable is faithfully passed along from generation to generation, as we teach our children that playing pretend does have it's limitations. However, after three days of camping and fishing, I am absolutely certain that Mr. Aesop not only botched the story, but got the title wrong as well.

In fact, the proper title should have been, "Daddy! I think I got one!!!".

So begins the fable of "Daddy! I think I got one!!!".

The story begins with a little boy and his daddy, fishing from a kayak on the glassy waters of Chambers lake. The father, while simultaneously trying to paddle the kayak, tie the fishing line, and rummage through the tackle box, prepares the little boy's fishing pole for deployment. The little boy, brimming with enthusiasm, frequently inquires about the status of this fishing pole, "Daddy, is it ready yet? Daddy, what is taking so long?", as daddy slices his finger with the switchblade. However, with determination and grit, the daddy declares success and throws out the first cast of the trip.

Within minutes, a cry, "Daddy! I think I got one!!!".



Daddy stares at the fishing pole and does not see any indication of a fish struggling against his impending doom. Daddy tells the little boy, "I don't think you do.". The little boy ignores his daddy and reels in the line to find it carrying a phantom trout. Disappointment momentarily overtakes enthusiasm. However, within minutes, the line is back in the water and the little boy is once again claiming "Daddy! I think I got one!!!", and the ritual of bringing in the line to an empty hook plays itself over again...and again...and again...and again... At one point, with my sliced finger gushing blood, I take to rinsing it in the lake, fully expecting the scent of blood to have the trout circling our boat ready to feast on Powerbait. Still, no luck.

As the long warped shadows of the surrounding mountains cast across the lake, we declare our initial fishing expedition a shutout. We brought in our line and took to the shore. Together, daddy and little boy vowed they would catch a fish the next day. Silently, the father was in a state of panic, realizing his entire legacy as a father will depend upon the success of this prophecy.

The darkness of night slipped into our campsite and engulfed us in a blanket of stars from horizon to horizon. Distant flashes of lighting from a powerful storm in Denver momentarily lit the night sky. Together, Brayden and I sat by the camp fire, cooked our dinner, and prepared our plan for the following day. Definitely going to go fishing. Definitely going to go kayaking.



Dawn arrives early. Seems to be a regular pattern of which I was not previously aware. It suddenly dawned upon me just how early it was at dawn when Brayden let out a loud yawn. I peeked out of our less than luxurious sleeping arrangements to see that indeed it was light outside, barely. No sign of the sun. Just lighter than absolute darkness. Brayden is ready to go fishing. I clearly am not ready to go fishing. I roll over and momentarily believe I will be permitted to fall asleep again. However, within minutes, I hear the beginning of tears as Brayden mumbles, "All the fish are going to be gone and we won't catch any." He might as well have just thrown his fishing line right to his daddy, because he hooked a big one with that display of heart-tugging bait. Daddy took the hook and was pulled unceremoniously from his sleeping bag and into the chilly morning air.

No time for breakfast. Must go fishing NOW. We trudge down to the shore of the lake and begin the ritualistic casting of our lines into the motionless lake. The sun slowly curls around the earth and showers us with its morning greeting. The trout begin jumping. The little boy begins exclaiming, "Daddy! I think I got one!!!", and it begins all over again. Deja vu anyone?

As we sat together, father and son, fishing where the Wild Things Are, we were embraced by the glory of nature. The cries of two bald eagles pierced the morning sky as they spread their wings and soared overhead. The fish frantically jumping out of the lake to catch bugs on the surface, or taunt us for our ineptitude at fishing. The sun reflecting off the water with a the mirror image of loge pole pine trees circumventing the lake, many dying from the tragic invasion of the Pine Beetle. The scene filled us with the elation of life and nature, if not with a basket full of fish.

After a couple hours, we find ourselves trudging back to our campsite, devoid of any fish. We start our campfire, cook some bacon and eggs for breakfast, and embark on our next mission, kayaking. This kayaking trip was an exploratory expedition of the lake, sans fishing poles. For the next two hours, Brayden and I paddled around the lake and took in the beautiful sites of nature. He quickly learned how to use his paddle to turn the boat and guide us to the shore. In fact, he insisted on "parking" the kayak on our trip home, doing a splendid job, missing our launch point by only a couple of feet.



Whew! What a day it has been!! It has been filled with fun activities of fishing and kayaking!! I am oblivious of time, assuming it is late in the afternoon and we are running late for lunch. However, my cell phone finally comes in handy, as I turn it on to show me if we should have lunch now or just start dinner really soon. My phone powers on and faithfully tells me the time: 10:00 AM. PANIC. Sheer panic. You mean we still have ten more hours until bedtime??

Later the same afternoon, after many tips about using worms as bait, Brayden and I took to our human instincts of hunting and gathering. We are in the wild now and must forage for our food and supplies. So, we hopped into the car and drove five miles down the highway to a small convenience store, where we hunted for worms and gathered a couple ice cream sandwiches. We knew our tribe back at the campsite would be elated at the success of our wild expedition. We were unprepared for the stunning encounter we were about to experience with a wild animal.

Arriving back at our campsite, I immediately noticed some things at our site had been displaced during our absence. Upon closer examination, I noticed a small baseball size hole in the travel bag I was using for keeping our food zipped closed. This was a rugged Eddie Bauer gear bag. I opened the bag, to find similar holes in our bag of nuts and cookies. We had been attacked by wild animals!!! Terror surged through us as we prepared ourselves for the encounter. We were determined not to back down from the mighty and powerful wild.....chipmunk. In our absence of just over an hour, chipmunks chewed a hole through our travel bag and food and perfectly executed their theft of our goods.

Following the coordinated chipmunk attack, there was only one thing left to do as evening approached - go fishing again. Brayden and I decided to try fishing in our kayak again using our fat and juicy worms. For over an hour we paddled around the lake, tempting the trout with our wriggling and squiggling worms sacrificed on the end of a fish hook. We had no takers. I was beginning to dread the possibility of not catching any fish on our trip when suddenly, Brayden yells out, "Daddy! I think I got one!!!" -- he eagerly reels in his fishing line and to his surprise, his fishhook was once again empty. Daddy gave a little chuckle and was reprimanded by Brayden for not believing that he had caught a fish. Then, to my complete surprise, I feel a jerk on my line, and I yell out "Brayden! I think I got one!!!". I reel in a bit and then wait. A moment passes and I think perhaps I had been duped. Then the fish struggled and I knew we had him. I reeled him in slowly, but he did not put up much of a fight. Within minutes, Brayden had our first rainbow trout in our net and on the deck of the kayak. Success!! We can safely go home now because we caught a fish!!! It was not really the biggest of fish, but it was a fish. Not knowing the size limit for the lake, I was not about to toss this fish back in the water.

Then Brayden says, "Well, you caught one but I haven't caught a fish yet. That just isn't fair!". Oh dear.

As our fish flopped around on our kayak, I was confronted with a serious dilemma. I hate touching fish. I refused to do it. In the past, when our little butterfly would go fishing with me (she loved fishing), she would always have to grab the fish, take the hook out, and do all that slimy wriggly squiggly stuff. However, now our butterfly was, well, really a butterfly and not a whole lot of help. I could not possibly lose face in front of my little boy and refuse to touch the fish. So, with butterflies now in my stomach, I grabbed the fish and took charge of the situation.

There is absolutely not a shadow of a doubt in my mind, that Tracell was looking down on this scene, both laughing her ass off at me having to grab the fish, but also gushing with pride that I overcame my fear and showed that fish who was boss.

As Brayden paddled us back to shore, with our fish in-tow, he was already making plans for us to go fishing again first thing in the morning by the rocks of a small peninsula in the lake. I agreed with one caveat, the sun has to be shining on the trees before we get out of our tent in the morning.

If this had been a movie, then a scene of the sun slowly peeking over the tree tops to the east would be set against very dramatic and suspenseful music. The kind of music you would hear in a movie for the morning of the big climactic game. Full of drama. Full of energy. Full of potential.

Brayden and I trekked the 100 yards to the rocks by the peninsula, stabbed our worms with our hooks, and cast out our first lines of the morning, just as the fish were beginning their aerial stunts and taunts. No luck. The fish just were not having any of the worms when they could snap at flies on the surface. So I changed strategy. I changed my line to a Rooster Tail lure. I cast out my line and began reeling it in when I feel a hard jerk on my line. I instinctively tug the pole to try and set the hook when the line snaps and comes flying out of the water, sans hook and fish. However, the instant success of the Rooster Tail was a good omen.

Meanwhile, Brayden was struggling with his fishing line and worms. The line kept getting stuck in the low marshy weeds and the fish simply did not have an appetite for slimy worms. After my near success with the Rooster Tail, Brayden wanted me to change his line to a lure. So I change out his line and toss out the first cast for him. Within seconds, a bite on his line! However, the hook did not set in the fish. As I slowly reeled in the line, we saw the fish actually chasing the lure all the way up to the shore. Had we been prepared with a net, we could have caught this fish right on the shore. However, it was a tiny fish, and as you may recall, the title of this article is that "Size Really Does Matter".



Emboldened by our two near successes, Brayden mounted the top of the giant boulder at the end of the peninsula and cast his line out to the area where I had the first hard bite. A half-dozen times, Brayden reeled in the line with his orange Rooster Tail and flung it back out to the water. I settled myself down behind the rock to tie a new lure on my line.

"Oh my God!!! Daddy!!! I got one!!!"

I looked up. I could see in his expression and the tone of his voice, he may not be crying "Daddy! I think I got one!!!" this time. It was possible that he could actually have a fish on his line. I bounded up on the rock next to him. Brayden was frantically starting to reel the line in as fast as he could. I just as frantically told him not to reel it in so hard or the line could break if he has a fish and it is fighting. I tell Brayden to stop reeling it in for a minute and lets see if he has a fish on the line. He stops turning the reel. We watch the end of the pole. It twitches. It twitches again. Then it frantically bends and flails in response to a fish acutely aware of impending doom.

I exclaim, "You do have one!! It is fighting!! Let it have some line now..."

Brayden let the line out a bit and tried to reel it in, but the fish was fighting him too hard and he couldn't spin the reel. He instinctively handed me the pole and started jumping with excitement. I jumped down off the rock and began a choreographed dance with the fish, reeling it in and then giving it some line, reeling again and giving line. The music in our movie now building to a triumphant crescendo, Brayden and I suddenly see the fish near the surface about ten yards from shore. I gently reel him in more, trying to keep the line from snapping on us. The fish approaches the shore. Once it is two yards off the shore, I step into the water, grab the line and pull the fish out of the water. It is a 16" rainbow trout. Brayden is beside himself with joy.

"Can you believe it daddy??? I caught a fish!!! I caught a BIG fish!!! That is my first fish I have caught in the wild!!!". It is the joyful sound of accomplishment that makes a parent flush with pride and love. My boy was happy. He caught a fish and he was happy. I was happy.

As we walked back to the campsite with our fish, I tell Brayden, "Well, it looks like we are even now. I caught a fish and you caught a fish. Now we can go home happy and it is fair."

Brayden responds, "Well daddy, it really isn't fair. I mean, the fish I caught is a LOT BIGGER than yours."

I laughed with no response.

The rest of our camping trip passed with several kayaking excursions around the lake and a couple more unsuccessful fishing expeditions. However, the pressure was off. The monkey was off my back. Brayden would be going home with a fish. We enjoyed the company of Sarge, the bald eagles that gracefully soared through the skies above and gave piercing cries, before dive bombing into the lake. Their fishing success rate was significantly higher than ours. We also had the thrill of watching a moose swim across the lake and pull itself onto shore (we later learned the moose had walked right through our campground). The entire trip was an unequivocal success. We accomplished our summer goal: camping, fishing, kayaking.

One would think this would be a logical point to conclude this story. We had the build-up, climax, and conclusion to a successful mission. End of story, right? Not quite.

Anyone that has children, will immediately identify with how size matters to a child. Go to a birthday party and cut the cake. Each and every child is comparing pieces to see who got the biggest piece. Purchase a toy car at the toy store and the child is immediately drawn to the upgrade size, a Toys-R-Us version of "Would you like to SuperSize this toy?". So we learn as children that size really does matter in all things where another child may have a bigger toy, piece of cake, drink, or any number of a million shiny objects designed to draw a child's attention.

I assure you, when it comes to fishing, it is no different. Size matters.

Once we returned to our campsite with Brayden's fish, we put it into the ice chest next to the one I had caught the day before. Without a moments hesitation, Brayden declares, "Oh my gosh daddy, your fish is SO TINY compared to mine.". Followed several minutes later with a casual question, "Daddy, can you believe I caught the BIGGER fish?".

On Thursday afternoon, as we drove down out of the mountains, winding our way along the Poudre River, Brayden replayed his fishing success moment by moment, always concluding with, "Then when you pulled it out of the water, I couldn't believe how BIG it was!! I mean, you really had to fight that fish because he was so BIG. Really daddy, you hardly even had to do anything when you caught your TINY fish, but mine was so much BIGGER.".

Upon arriving home, Brayden was anxious to demonstrate how big his fish was to an audience. So, before the car was even unpacked, he had his fish pulled out of the ice chest and proudly putting it on display, followed by "...and here is daddy's tiny fish.".

Two nights after our return from the wild, grilled rainbow trout was the feature item on our dinner menu. Brayden and I went out back and cleaned the fish (Ok...I cleaned the fish...he watched). Brayden squealed with delight when fish brains slimed out of it's skull. Once both fish were cleaned, they were laid on a pan to take out to the grill. The fish filets now lay side by side. Brayden picks them up and starts to declare, "This is daddy's. This is mine. Daddy's. Mine. Daddy's. Mine."

Of course, I was forced to eat my TINY fish while he gorged on his BIGGER fish. The dinner was delicious as he explained how his fish had more meat on it because it was BIGGER than daddy's fish. I confirmed that indeed my fish did not have much meat, with it being so tiny. After about four bites, my dinner was done.

Briefly returning to the evening of our exquiste trout dinner, after Brayden went to bed, I slipped out of the house (no Brayden was not left alone) and took a quick drive through the town. My destination, for the first time in almost three years: McDonalds. You see, after my paltry meal, my stomach also arrived at the same conclusion as Brayden, that Size Really Does Matter.

End of story? Not on your life.

For the next month, the topic of his BIGGER fish has been a staple of many conversations. Last week, Brayden randomly said "Wasn't it amazing when you caught your fish daddy?".

I responded, "It sure was, it was our first fish we caught!".

Brayden inevitably replies, "Yeah. You caught the first fish, but I caught the BIGGER fish."

In fact, just two days ago, a full month since we emerged from our adventure into the wild, as I was painting the family room bookshelf, Brayden blurts out with no prompting from me, "Can you believe that I caught that BIG fish and you just caught that little TINY fish?"

Need any further proof that size really does matter?

As many of you may recall, Tracell's funeral featured a butterfly release following the ceremony. When ordering the butterflies, Brayden and I looked at the choices: Painted or Monarch Butterflies. Brayden insisted on ordering the Monarch butterflies. When I asked why the Monarch and not the Painted. He responded, "Daddy, Monarch butterflies are a lot bigger."

I suppose that when it comes to riding on the wings of our precious butterfly, Size Really Does Matter.