It was an innocent enough moment. My daughter Sofie, clad in fashion boots and a hot pink skirt awkwardly reeled in a spirited little sunfish until a flash of deep green boiled around her prize. The little fish disappeared and was replaced with something much different.

That morning before school, apparently out of the blue (which is where most of her statements seem to originate) she asked to go fishing later that evening. Spring was coaxing life back into the Ozark foothills where we live, so I told her we’d go and take Papa (Grandpa) too.

I got home from work, dug some worms out of the compost pile and the three of us were off. In the rear view mirror Sofie’s face was contorting between giggles; her way of not exploding from excitement. I’m glad the prospect of fishing gets her heart pumping.

Her rig is a Shakespeare Micro Series paired to a walleye ice fishing rod. It’s a nice setup for a kiddo. Too many kids are saddled with poor quality kit that when combined with their developing motor skills, makes learning to fish frustrating. I don’t want a crappy reel to be the reason she misses out on a lifetime spent on the water. After this particular evening, I doubt that will happen. Watch the video and I think you’ll agree.

I noticed the dark void chasing her fish just seconds before the gill flare flashed and her rod doubled over. She was unaware of the bait-and-switch that had just occurred.  I grabbed the rod to loosen the drag on her reel and by then the commotion was plain to her…and she refused to take the rod back. The bass wasn’t hooked, it just wasn’t letting go of its dinner. I played it cautiously, attempting to gingerly lead it to shore, all the while encouraging Sofie to take the rod back.

Before the bass got out of the weedline, it lost a handle on the sunfish and came off the line. The little fish suspended stunned underwater as the largemouth came around for another swing at it. This was where I was finally able to convince Sofie to take control of the rod again while I landed the beast. It wasn’t until I confirmed for her that the bass was “nice” that she acquiesced.

Normally I’d let a fish like that go, but she wanted to keep it and “turn it into dinner.” That evening in our kitchen with the spring peepers’ song filtering into our house, she stood at a comfortable distance  watching as I filleted her prize and put the meat into the fridge. She had not only landed a trophy bass and provided a meal for her family, but she did it all while sporting a hot pink skirt and fashion boots.

That’s my girl.