February in northern Maine is a hard month for a fly fisherman. If you don’t ice fish or snowmobile, there isn’t much to do. The rivers are locked up, the days are short and cabin fever sets in fast. So you tie flies — a lot of them. I tie every day.
One afternoon, looking for something to write about, I started scrolling through old photos, hoping something would spark a story.
What I found instead were memories — pictures of my two boys, Tait and Jax, when they were tiny. Sitting at a vise. Holding rods almost taller than they were. Standing beside me on the water, bundled up and smiling. It got me thinking about kids, fly fishing and a question I’ve been asked for years.
Over the life of maineflyfish.com, one question keeps coming up: how old should my child be before I take them fishing? My answer has always been the same: now.
When my boys were babies, they rode in a backpack on the river while I fly fished. They won’t remember that part of their journey, but I will. As a dad, having them with me while I spent the day doing what I loved mattered. It wasn’t about teaching them anything yet — it was about sharing space, time and rhythm.
As they got older and could walk, I changed how I introduced them to fly fishing and fly tying. In my fly-fishing room, I had a big desk, and on each end I set up a tying station — one for each boy.
The most important part of the process was that I never forced it. Fishing and tying were never requirements; they were always options. I’d go in to tie flies, and sooner or later both boys would wander in and start creating their own.
In the beginning, I cut the hooks off so they couldn’t poke themselves. I still have some of their first flies tucked away somewhere — messy, crooked and perfect.
We never let them ask for toys when we went shopping and we didn’t buy toys either. But books and fly-tying materials? Those were always fair game, especially at the fly shop.
Their first fly rod wasn’t really a fly rod. It was a Batman spinning rod with an old fly reel and fly line attached. I tied one of their flies to a short, heavy leader and let them cast while I fished. They didn’t know they weren’t really fishing — but they were. When I hooked a fish, I let them reel it in. Little by little, they were learning without pressure or expectation.
As they grew stronger, I transitioned them into a six-foot three-weight fly rod. At three years old, their wrists weren’t strong enough for longer rods, and the shorter setup kept them from getting tired or frustrated. That mattered. If it stops being fun, kids lose interest fast.
Tait caught his first solo fish on a fly rod at age three — a crappie at Hermon Pond. I put him on the opposite end of the boat so I wouldn’t get hooked, gave him a pile of snacks and took photos of every fish he caught and released. Jax might have been even younger. As soon as he could walk, he was in the boat, rod in hand.
I let them develop at their own pace. I gave pointers but never criticized. I wanted fishing to be something they looked forward to, not something they felt judged for doing wrong. The river has a way of teaching patience on its own.
As the years passed, we took more trips together. Some short, some long, some unforgettable. As a father, there’s nothing better than having your kids alongside you on your journey. And realizing you’re now part of theirs.
When Tait turned 11, I started taking him to New York for steelhead for his birthday. Until Jax turned 11, a family friend and I took him striper fishing instead. Once he hit 11, we all went to New York together. Both of their birthdays are in October and it became a tradition.
Before they turned 18, they’d fished New York and Florida multiple times, catching steelhead, kings, browns, tarpon, peacock bass, snook, angelfish, moonfish, grouper and more.
On a recent trip to New York, I watched both of them fish hard in brutal conditions — and out fish me. I watched Jax fish patterns he designed himself and hook steelhead on them.
That’s when it really hits you. Somewhere along the way, the student becomes the teacher. You’re no longer showing them the way — they’re walking it on their own.
This journey doesn’t end until I can’t do it anymore. And even then, I know they’ll keep going.
So if you have young kids, don’t wait. Don’t overthink it. Take them fishing. Take them hiking. Take them tying flies at the kitchen table. Take them wherever your passion lives. Let them grow into it — or not. Boy or girl, it doesn’t matter.
What matters is time. Time spent together creates memories. Memories create bonds. And those bonds last a lifetime.