Memories of first opening day of fishing season
Dad didn't have to wake us at 4:30. We hardly slept that night in April, 1950. It was Opening Day of lowland lakes trout fishing.
We struggled into flannel shirts, tennis shoes and jackets and waited near the oil furnace while Dad packed the car with fishing gear and his idea of the classic fisherman's lunch: peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and an orange in paper sack. We were going to Lake Fenwick.
Lake Fenwick had a mystical feeling to us. There was no I-5 freeway then, no Southcenter, no industrial sprawl in the valley. The lake was a lovely 18-acre gem two miles southwest of Kent, nestled in tall trees and hidden from the road.
We lived near the airport in McMicken Heights, just east of the airport. The drive to Fenwick was probably less than 15 minutes but it took on the character of a great adventure when Dad and his three sons set out to stalk the wily rainbow trout.
It was still dark when we parked in the dirt lot on the north end of the lake. A shack near the water's edge was buzzing with activity as fishermen rented rowboats while others with their own boats pushed off to their favorite spots on the lake.