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The Fisherman I Knew
by John Zuiker
I am not sure how my dad, Francis Zuiker, got into fishing. I know Con Zuiker, his father, raised night crawlers in the basement for sale to the local fisherman, and I remember the chicken coops at my grandfather's house. But I never realized till recently how much fishing played a big part in our lives. It seemed to be a passion for Dad. He would delve into this sport the same way he did everything.
I remember as a little guy, Dad waking me up at 4 in the morning on a weekday. It was so hard to get up at that hour, but we would head to the bait store in total darkness and then to the donut shop, my favorite stop. Then we were off to the breakwall on the south side of Chicago at Lake Michigan. We would fish for perch with minnows, using cane poles or trout lines. A little bell would ring whenever we had a fish on the line. The best time of year was in the spring and as Dad would declare "the wind has been out of the southwest for several days, the perch are biting." I do remember us catching fish but most of the time I would just explore the beach. Dad once brought home a monster yellow perch that was at least two pounds. That is a big perch. I guess we ate it though. Dad would talk to the fishermen; but generally he was busy with the bait and troutlines. He seemed to be active most of the time while fishing but I do remember times when he would just stand or sit quietly for long periods. I wish I had asked him what he was thinking about back then. About 8 am we would head for home and Dad would be off to work for his 8 hour shift.
Then there was Tomahawk, Wisconsin, this magical place more exciting then a Disney World, according to my Dad and brothers. Dad loved this place and managed to create that same excitement in us. We are so lucky to have the Raven's Roost as his gift to us. As a very young boy I would see my brothers head off to Tomahawk and come back with so many stories of all the fun they had up there. I wanted to go so badly. Each year another son would head to the northland and I dreamed of the day that Dad would say it was my turn. Finally, one spring, Dad said, "Doc you are old enough to go to Tomahawk this year." I think I was about eight at the time. It was such a thrill and Tomahawk was as great as everyone had said. All of us have so many great memories. I still remember a particular evening while we all sat around the fireplace on the Raven's Roost. We were drenched from head to toe because it had been raining for four straight days. We were eating out of pie tins and Dad's was half full of beans and water. A huge junebug landed in his beans and he just scooped it out and kept eating. He loved the outdoors. He was a hardworking man but gentle in his own way and knew how to teach his kids about fishing and a respect for our natural environment. I am not sure what influenced me to pursue a career in environmental stewardship but all of my early experiences about learning, caring and respecting wildlife and the natural environment came from my Dad.
Still there were lots more fishing trips. In the spring Dad would get out the smelt nets and we would head into Chicago to line up with hundreds of other characters and throw out our seining nets along the lakefront. Every now and then Dad would call us all together to pull up the nets and slide the slimy little smelts through the nets. I don't remember ever eating them but it was always fun to catch them. I never thought about where Dad got all the ideas for these different fishing activities but we were always fishing somewhere.
Then there was the ice fishing. Ever Saturday, from December to March, we would go to the Chain O' Lakes in northern Illinois to ice fish. Dad would fish for hours. He was always trying a new fishing hole or a new fishing jig. The rest of us would get bored in a few minutes and be off to explore or go ice-skating. Dad would visit with the other fishermen and every now and then he would pull a fish from the hole and lay it on the ice. Dad would be decked out in this sheep skin pants and fur hat, looking like a dogsledder from Alaska. He never seemed to be cold and just worked at his fishing. The big thrill at the end of the day was to go to the local restaurant and have a burger and hot chocolate. It sure isn't the expensive thrills my kids get today, but it was a great thrill to us young kids back then. We would then head for home listening to the Blackhawks hockey game on the radio. We spent a lot of hours in the car with Dad traveling to fishing spots or work. It was terrific to have so many great conversations with him during these trips. They were great therapy sessions for impressionable young minds from a true psychologist who had learned from experience and not from a book.
Finally there was Hatteras and Fort Desoto and Sabastian Inlet and Panama City. I was always thrilled to hear Dad's stories of his fishing adventures and it was really great to be able to join him on some of these trips. I had numerous fishing trips to the Atlantic Ocean in North Carolina and the western shoreline of Florida. Each place required a different fishing technique that he had learned or created himself. It was always fun to show off our catches to the tourists. Dad certainly loved Hatteras. Like the shorebirds he loved to be on the go. From the bridge to the jetty, to the sound or the ocean side, he was always on the move, expecting the fishing to be better at another location. In the morning, while standing on the bridge, with his rod in the water and his coffee and his honey bun near by, he seemed totally at peace. He would stare into the water and blend into the landscape.
He certainly had a vast knowledge of fishing from all over the country. Dad must have caught over a hundred different species of fish from around the world. Such fish as trout, pompano, sand shark, bluefish, weakfish, muskie, stingray, bluegill, drum, puffers, and flounder to mention just a few. He was so proud of his tagged bluefish and his 6 ¼ pound flounder caught at Point Lookout, Maryland; that was bigger then our landing net. In the past 15 years, I have purchased some of the better rods, reels, lures and fishing line that are manufactured. I have learned a lot about fishing from fishing seminars and TV shows, and I have managed to catch some really nice fish. But it still amazes me that Dad, with his old fishing line, half spooled on the reel, and his unusual fishing techniques, would almost always catch fish when we couldn't. Some of his ideas I thought were a little strange, but he was always trying to find a new approach or new technique. He never gave up. He seemed to be in his own world when he was fishing. A lot of thoughts must have run through his mind as he would stand on the Bonner Bridge and just stare down at his fishing line into the depths of the Atlantic Ocean. He loved to catch fish but seemed to get a special thrill out of his sons, daughters and grandchildren getting a fish for the basket. I am very glad that so many of us had the opportunity to share that experience.
He taught me to be a sportsman and a naturalist. Things so many kids these days never get from their fathers. I was very fortunate to have numerous fishing trips with him. I stood side by side with this proud fisherman while fishing from the bridges and breakwalls in North Carolina and Florida. While standing waist deep in saltwater at the Albermare Sound or the Florida Gulf or the Atlantic Ocean. While fishing from charter boats on the Chesapeake Bay and the Pacific Ocean. While fishing the rock jetty along the Potomac River and at numerous lakes and streams throughout the west and Canada. We fished together along Lake Michigan's breakwall and through the ice in northern Illinois and Wisconsin. And, of course, the ultimate in fishing fun on Lake Alice at the Raven's Roost. I was in the boat when that monster muskie gave Dad the name for the Bay of Pigs. Still with all of these adventures and memories, I still would love to hear him say one more time, " Hey Doc, let's …….."