Some memories don’t fade—they get sharper with time, like a well-kept blade. Our good friend and incredible photographer, Matt Carey, spent a day chasing fish and stories with his grandfather, camera in hand and heart wide open. What came back wasn’t just a stringer full of fish—it was a visual reminder of where we come from, and why we keep going back.
Words by Matt Carey (@of_the_field).
As long as I can remember, my grandfather was a passionate bass fisherman. Back then, bass fishing wasn’t the sport it is today—it was a pastime and a way of life.
As soon as I could hold a rod, I was on the dock fishing with my Papa. As I grew older, he taught me the art of finesse fishing with plastic bait from his boat. My brother and cousins fished too, but after a few days of pre-sunrise wake-up calls, it was usually just me and Papa on the water.
Some folks argue about keeping bass or say it’s not good table fare, but we were taught to eat what we caught. If we strung together a few good days on the water, the whole family would be eagerly awaiting the inevitable summer evening fish fry. It’s just what we did.
I’ve always loved fishing with him, but now—as he rounds the final lap of his journey on this earth—I savor every moment we share on the water. His memory may not be what it once was, but he always seems to remember exactly how many more fish he’s caught than me.
