Bear Grease - Ep. 501: This Country Life - First Fish and the Latest Baby

Episode Date: September 11, 2026

You only get so many firsts in your life and to witness a good one with your kids—well, that's something really special. Brent's sharing a listener story about a first fish, and one of his own that happened with his youngest daughter Bailee. He's also sharing exciting family news and details about how we can help a great kid oriented non-profit. There's news about the World Championship Squirrel Cook Off as well. It's time for MeaytEater;s "This Country Life" podcast. www.themayflyproject.com Thank you to our sponsors, Case Knives and Stor-Mor. Shop This Country Life Merch Connect with Brent and MeatEater MeatEater on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, Youtube, and Youtube Clips Subscribe to the MeatEater Podcast Network on YouTube Shop This Country Life MerchSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

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Concerned about your gambling or that of someone close to you, visit connectsonterio.ca. Welcome to this country life. I'm your host, Brent Reeves. From Coon Hunting to Trotlining and Just General Country Living, and I want you to stay a while as I share my experiences and life lessons. This Country Life is presented by Case Knives from the Storemore Studio on Meat Eat Eaters Podcast Network, bringing you the best outdoor podcasts that Airways have to offer. All right, friends, grab a chair or drop that tailgate.

I've got some stories to share. First fish and the latest baby. The first of anything with our little ones are always special. And when it comes to hunting and fishing, fish are usually the ones they get to lay the little hands on first. We've got a lot to talk about in today's theme because it goes right along with what we're talking about now. Join me at the fire.

Let's get started. Three of the principles in today's opening tale hail from the great state of North Carolina and count themselves as three of the roughly 44,000 inhabitants of the historic city of Hickory. John Phillips, better known as Papa to 8-year-old June and 4-year-old Boe, and police officer Phillips to the rest of the populace sent in this tale of his children's first fish. I think a lot of us can relate to these events. and I hope you enjoy hearing about this one as much as I did reading it. So in John's words of my voice, here we go.

Trying to raise children on a night shift schedule as a law enforcement officer is difficult. I'm lucky to have a great wife who bears the brunt of the load in the morning, leaving me to do my best sleeping beauty impression until the afternoon. Trying to teach them about the outdoors on that schedule is especially difficult as it leaves essentially the last half of the day for the activities. That's if you're not rained or snowed out, which is why moments that seem like pure magic are that much more special. In the heat of the late spring, my daughter Junie found a fondness with Bluegill-Brim.

It came about as her and my son Bo were walking adjacent to the toy section of a big box store. I had made an off-the-cuff statement of not buying them toys, however, I would buy them something for outside fun. Soon after, they spotted the fishing rods in the outdoor section of the store. The kind we as adults all know in our hearts as kids to be more like a toy, each equipped with a knockoff spin-cast reel and adorned with the latest cartoon character or superhero. I declined those choices stating that, If it came with a tiny smiling fish, it's a toy. Well, later the duo would find a pair of green and red fishing rods that were no longer than three feet,

advertised as a dock rod, and no tiny smiley fish in the site, so staying true to my word, we snatched them up. The tub of night crawlers, some size 10 salmon egg hooks, and a few Gatorades later, we hit the nearby lake. A small walk and a million questions later we reached a spot and as Bo swung his red sword around that was disguised as a fishing rod, Junie caught her first fish, a blue gill. With some convincing, Bo caught his first as well. I was certainly one proud papa. On another outing, she expressed how much she loved fishing and that she would need a bigger rod for bigger fish. Now, I couldn't really argue with that.

so I told her if she managed to catch fish large enough to keep and eat, then I would give her some money to buy a real rod and reel. So as Bo battled a few dragons and dug for more worms, June proceeded to fill the cooler with a mess of the largest blue gill I had ever seen, and we had ourselves a fish fry. She loved the sweet flavor of the fillets and gleamed with pride. The next day we went to another big box store, more suitable for what she was after.

And that girl with a crisp $50 bill in the hand purchased a least five-foot six-inch Mr. Trout combo. I had made statements in passing about how I loved fishing for trout, and she was eager to try her hand at it. Now, let us fast forward to some colder air and colder water. And little Junie has several fish in the cast iron at this point, and Bo had finally taken to keeping his line more in the water than out. Today, our target was trout.

On a stretch of road near a creek new to me, a spot blessed by my brother, we made our way. The drive was filled with only one question. What if I catch my first trout today? Now, mind you, I had just woken up at noon after a weekend night on patrolling. The sun would set around 5.30, And we had just left the house at two. I told them, fellas, let's just be happy to see the water.

We parked on a small pull-off on the side of the road, and below was a steep hill leading to a large rock that had a big pocket of moving water roughly 20 feet directly in front of. The current was moving moderately from left to right, and with my polarized glasses, I could see some decent-sized trout. Though in the deeper pool, the water was moving with enough for, to make it too difficult to see very deep. There was a drop-off from the rock to the creek about 18 inches,

so I laid out some ground rules of not moving around too much, and mainly toward bow do not get in the water. It's far too cold, and we didn't have a change of clothes, and we didn't really know how deep it was. Fishing this spot would be the first for all of us. Junie being quite skilled at this point, cast a line and helped a bow. and after a few drifts I heard that girl set the hook and the drag singing as lines started peeling off her reel.

Now, Junie had caught several big brim before this trail, but she'd never heard drag spooling, let alone do what to do about it. She just quietly said, uh, Papa? I was busy helping Bo at the time and said, buddy, reel this in. I got to help your sister. Bo reeled in and I was by her side in a flash. tightening down the drag and I told her you're in for a fight girl. I watched the small bobber as it zipped away from that deep pocket and I could barely keep an eye on its florist and orange tip.

Knowing I loaded that reel with four-pound lion and from the amount of smoke and steam I pictured screaming off that reel from the amount of line that came out, I knew we were in for a big treat or a bigger disappointment. June fought that trout for what felt like forever. She listened well to my instructions of let him run and keep him out from under that rock. She finally had the fish at the drop-off. Her biggest fan, Bo, cheering her on to the entire time when it happened. Heartbreak, along with the subtle yet definite pop of a broken line.

The rod went back straight and the pounding in her chest of what might have been was all that she could feel. Confusion, disbelief, despair, and I let out a no as I was bending down to scoop up her prize. Then I heard the squeals, get it, Papa, get it, Papa! And as if possessed, I jumped into the waist deep, early December water. I wrapped both hands around a two-foot rainbow and put both of us onto the rock where June and Bo stood watching. I wasn't sure what came over me to do something so foolish other than this was my little girl, first trout. I showed her briefly the beautiful colors of the fish and then we climbed the hill to the cooler. I took a moment thinking of my dad and grandfather who had passed away while some

emotions wet my cheek. Quietly, we returned to the rock where the sun was setting and we cast out again and bow hooked into his first trout as well. This one being over 12 inches, though not as dramatic of an event as his sisters, this one wet my cheek again. I hugged them both trying to explain what the day meant to me. And on the soggy ride home, I explained how grandpa had a brown trout bounded about the same size as hers, and I had only dreamt of catching a trout that big. Shoot, I told them, I'd dreamt of a trout the size of the one, Bocault. It was hard for her to grasp and Bo said he was just happy to be going home. I tried to explain that Grandpa's mouth was a representation of his memory to me

that I wished I had been with him when he caught it, though I was late by nearly 45 years. That the time I have to spend with them is so precious since there isn't much of it given my current shift. Also, how my dad, who died two years ago, would have been swimming along with me to grab that fine fish if he could have. I explained that we would have Junie's fish mounted and her and Bo could have that memory to share one day. According to John Phillips, it's just how that happened. Well, John, I like the way you gave your children a choice of something that didn't require batteries or Wi-Fi connections. There will be a time later on down the road when they will appreciate that encouragement far beyond what they do now. It's also encouraging to me that parents as busy as they are will still find the time to teach and participate in an activity that can literally last a lifetime even if the window of opportunity is only open for a few hours of the day.

June and Bo won't remember how long they fished Just that they did Good stuff Thanks John You've heard the chaos Now you can see it Hello my gosh Watch all your favorite podcasts from start to finish

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sure open the free iHeard radio app search video podcasts and tap watch hey everyone big huge announcement meat eater live the christmas tour is kicking off again this year for the christmas season of 2026 this time we're hitting the midwest meat eater live the christmas tour kicks off in December across six Midwestern cities. We got Grand Rapids, Milwaukee, Madison, Des Moines, Minneapolis, and Fargo. Join myself, Janus, Putellus, Clayneuke, and Brent Reeves, and Randall Williams for a night of laughs, trivia, free prizes, news, and opinions from across the worlds of hunting, fishing, wildlife conservation, and wild foods. Also, we're already stacking up some great special guests. I got my buddy Bubbly Doug.

making the appearance in Madison. Meat Eater Live is the best Christmas gift for any outdoorsman or woman in your life. Tickets go on sale September 25th, but sign up at themeatater.com slash tour, and you'll get pre-sale access to buy tickets on September 14th days before they go on sale to the public. We can't wait to see you there. And I'm telling you, go ask anyone who has ever come to one of the Me Eater Live events, and they will tell you, we laugh our asses. is off. We give away great prizes. We put on a solid show that I'm proud to be part of.

For Bailey, my youngest, it was a rainbow trout at the Roaring River State Park in southern Missouri, where she first connected with the fish. We traveled to the area for another event, and when I saw the state park and the fly fishing only area that was available, I thought it'd be a good time in place to introduce my youngest to fishing. She was five and loved everything about fly fishing, especially tying flies with me even though she'd yet to wet a hook. We got a room for the night at the park, and the next morning, all three of us, Alexis included,

walked down a trail to a controlled release stream stocked with rainbow trap. We made our way to the fly fishing only section, and even though the park was full of families lining the banks fishing, The fly fishing only area was completely void of people. Bailey was outfitted with her own fishing vest and flies that we had tied together back home at my tying bench. Her little chair occupying the co-pilot position at the bench, scuds, midges, and a few prince nymphs were what we'd prepared for the trip.

Nothing fancy, just the tried and true that have brought more fish to the surface than dynamite or green walnut hulls. In the cold, clear water, we could see a fish laying behind a rock. His tail slowly swishing back and forth as he stayed in position for minutes at a time, only to dart out a matter of inches to feed on whatever floated by at a very specific speed and location in the water column. I explained in great detail to Bailey what was going on, and as she watched the fish in his movements and listened intently, seemingly hanging on,

every portion of my description of the events, and then she asked me if I thought her shoes were nice. Oh, yeah, they're very pretty, honey. We got some line out, and we practiced downstream from that fish on roll casting. With a little help, she was doing it quite well, with more accuracy than I had expected. Keeping her locked in was a lot easier when we were actually going through the motions of casting and letting that fly drift toward a practice target. We made a game out of it practicing,

and after a dozen or so cast by herself, she said, Daddy, I want to catch that fish. We moved back upstream, and she was eager to cast, but first we had to find that fish again. And there he was in the same exact spot as she found him all by herself. She started her roll cast, and then she did really well,

the difference in the current putting a belly in her line, something that we hadn't had to deal with further downstream. A quick lesson in mending the line and we were back in business. Drift after drift, with my help, never made that fish budge. I changed from a midge to a scud. Drift after drift, not all of which were on target, but some of them, they were absolute bullseyes. and he never acted like he even saw him. She was getting a little discouraged, but just as happy to be there as when we started. And with the morning full of fishing lessons,

I was beginning to think the main lesson we were both getting taught was the one where sometimes you don't catch any fish, even when you can see them. Daddy, try that other fly. I think we should try a different spot, but okay, I'll try. tied on.

I tied on a size 18, Prince Nymph, that I tied, wishing that I had the use of an electron microscope when I made it was now in the batters box. I fed some line out upstream and let Bailey roll cast it out when it drifted above where the fish she was after lay wait for a bite to eat.

It was as if it were now all in slow motion, the sound of the flyline zipping out. of the water and the seemingly effortless roll cast Bailey made as if she'd been doing it for 20 years instead of 20 times. The line rolled out as if directed by divine intervention. The fly settling down on the surface of the water as light as a snowflake. And in my head, I could hear Robert Redford reading a passage from Norman McLean's masterpiece and right on cue as the prince nymph drifted by the fish on the first attempt with that fly. and the last cast of the day.

The trout weed watched for the better part of the morning attacked it with a vengeance. It surprised us both, and Bailey looked at me, her eyes wide with excitement, as the trout started making a run in the pool that he'd been feeding in all morning. Raise up the rod and pull the line in, honey. She was doing all she could do to hold the ride with both hands when that fish made a run close to where we were standing on the bank, and I scooped him up with my net. She looked up at me, her smile and look of astonishment

encompassing all my attention and bigger than all outside. Alexis cheering us on in the background, and for a moment my world consisted of my five-year-old little girl, my wife, and a hatchery-raised trout 99 out of 100 folks wouldn't look at twice. There were no other noises, only the laughter and rapid-fire questions and descriptions of what we just witnessed. Then we released the fish for someone else to enjoy, and her attention turned to chunking rocks and hunger. We talk about that trip and that fish ever so often, and Bailey always remembers it as when we stayed in that fancy place where I caught my first fish. Well, that fancy place we stayed in was a state park hotel that while clean and comfortable

could have easily doubled as one of a dozen military barracks I've stayed in with its painted concrete walls and industrial-type furniture. It was nine years ago, and for a girl who now looks sideways at any place we stay in on the road that's not embassy suites or above, that trip made as big of a lasting impression on her as it did me. I remember my son's first fish and that of my oldest daughter Amies as well. And it was she that I was visiting earlier today when we all went to the hospital to see her, our son-in-law, Colin, our three other grandchildren, and the newest grandbaby born two days ago. All are doing fine, and we look forward to them all, going home very soon.

The countdown has begun for his first fish, along with many other first along the way. And just like Bailey's memory being biased towards a better version of what it actually was, who can say that she was wrong. She was there with people who loved her, participating in an action a lot of folks do alone, and sharing her joy with us while we shared our pride in her. Now, how could that not make a mediocre place seem a little fancy? I look forward to one day hearing about his first fish, or did Lord Willing, watching him catch it. Get out there with young kids, the grandkids, or especially the ones that don't normally have the opportunity to do so.

I'm going to be doing some work with an organization I only recently learned about that is tailor-made for the latter. The Mayfly Project is a nonprofit that started here in Arkansas by Jess Westbrook and his wife, Laura. A couple I met on a plane when I was on my way home from a meeting at the meat eater office in Bozeman. I'm going to be talking about them a whole lot here in the future, but if you want to get a head start on the rest of the class, slip on over to the Mayflyproject.com and start seeing how you might want to help. Now, tomorrow is the World Championship Squirrel Cookoff and me and Lake Pickle with John Pantuso, who is the T-Moo version of the Buffalo Bill's quarterback Josh Allen, will be there at our very own Meat Eater tent.

We've got this country life hats, other meat eater hats, along with a limited supply of my signature case mini Trapper knives. It's going to be a lot of fun. Y'all come by and see us. Just Google the World Championship Squirrel cooking. and you'll get all information. It's tomorrow. It's all free, and it's absolutely one of the best family times that you're going to have. I'm going to be there.

Lake Pickle's going to be there. My family's going to be there. It's going to be so much fun. Y'all come see us. Until next week, this is Brent Reeves. Signing off. Y'all be careful.