All in the Family: Meteorologist Bradley Wells’ love for fishing runs deep
GHENT, WV (WVNS)– Growing up in the farm lands of South Jersey, my town didn’t have much. A convenience store, a local bank and a bar & grill was the highlight of our ‘downtown’ district. Aside from that, living in the Pine Barrens of New Jersey were corn fields, pine trees, and waterways.
My father had a love for fishing from freshwater farm ponds, streams, rivers, bays and, of course, the Atlantic Ocean. It was like a weekend tradition during the warmer months to just go fish all day until the sun completely set. We would sneak the fishing poles in dad’s truck for an after baseball game stop at the lake, or we would “try a new spot” adventure with tackle box in tow.
Eventually I became old enough to ride my bike the six miles to the town lake where I spent most of my summer breaks. After work, dad picked me up and I’d do it all over again the next day; catching bluegill, crappie, bass, and carp- just being out on the lake was enough for me. When dad came by it was just father and son enjoying the company of each other.
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I remember my father giving me a magazine with an article about fly fishing. I’ve seen others at the lake using a fly rod, and I was amazed. The article had a three step, how-to fly fish and I must have read that a few dozen times. A few weeks later, dad bought me a fly rod and off to the lake we went. A few hooks in the ears, the back of the neck, and legs later, I had it down. It quickly became my go-to rod.
Fast forward a few years later, we lost my father on Christmas Day 1999. That summer, I was at the lake every day I could. I always felt closer to him when doing what we loved to do together. My paternal grandfather would visit and take me to the lake, picking up where my dad left off. It was simply normal again.
From there, fishing just held a special place in my heart, and I’ve carried that with me from eight years old to now. I eventually got a hand-me-down fly fishing rod from my step-grandfather that he used to use after he passed. My paternal grandfather and I would continue to hit the lake until I finally moved away to begin my own adventure.
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We lost my paternal grandfather three years ago, and after his funeral, it was the town lake I went to knowing it’ll likely be the last time I visit that small town in New Jersey. I remembered all the conversations, the fish we caught, and the memories of all of those summers.
Now, as a father myself, I still hit the lakes and streams in West Virginia whenever I can with my daughter in tow. She doesn’t much care for the fishing, but she does love the time spent with dad and simply being. My hope is that we’re creating some of the same memories, and the fly fishing pole she watches me use is the same one I received all those years ago from my step-grandfather.
It doesn’t matter where I fish now, as I will always feel closer to all the family lost that would go with me when I fish. I’d just like to give my daughter a sense that the world is simply made up of the little moments. Casting a line in the water might as well be a line into the past, connecting me once again to that eight year old kid and his father planting the memories I so cherish today.
If you ever find yourself at Little Beaver State Park, Lake Stephens, Summersville Lake, along the Greenbrier or New Rivers in Hinton, you may just see me with the fly rod smiling. For the more adventurous, Spruce Knob Lake in Randolph County is my top-of-list favorite in West Virginia. If you do find me out on the water, stop by and say hi. There is nothing like sharing a shoreline with folks who simply love the water.
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