Now and then, a mom or dad (or other relative) will kind of sidle up to me and look at the ceiling or at their fingernails. They clear their throat, and say something like: "Uh, Rich, my kid wants to go fishing..." Pause. "And, well, to tell you the truth..." This is when they make eye contact, finally. "...I don't know the first thing about fishing."

Maybe they fished long ago with a father or uncle, a mother or aunt. Or maybe no adult ever took them fishing. "So how do you go about it?" they ask. "Do you rent a boat? Do you get lessons?" And so on.

The primary question, however, is why?

For several years, I've been asking people that question while travelling around the country to research "Fly-Fishing for Sharks: An Angler's Journey Across America," a book about our relationship with nature—specifically, with fish. I've heard countless stories about how fishing serves as a glue that binds the generations—that fishing is not about catching fish. It's about time and memory. And water.

Fishing Memories and History
Take Conway Bowman, for instance. Conway is a thirty-something former grunge rocker who, after years of separation from nature, returned to his childhood obsession: fishing. He now fly-fishes off the San Diego coast—for sharks. His earliest memories are associated with fishing.

"I remember my father, this big man walking into the kitchen with albacore as long as his leg," says Conway. "I'd watch the way he cleaned the fish with authority. I'd sit on the floor and just look at him. He'd get me up to go fishing when it was still dark. I remember his Ford Falcon, and his hat, and his red checkered jacket, and his fishing boots. I still have those boots. They're in my closet now."

There's just something about fishing—something that goes way beyond the impulse to hunt, gather, or order smoked salmon.

Somewhere along the line of human history, fishing became more than a survival tool. Much more. Egyptian hieroglyphs portrayed fishers using short rods and lines and attired in the style of the noblemen, indicating that angling was a diversion for the wealthy. Plutarch wrote of a fishing match between Antony and Cleopatra - the first trophy tournament? And in England in 1486, a nun named Dame Juliana Berners wrote the first essay on sport fishing.

So don't let anyone tell you that fishing is just for boys.

"I almost hate to call it fishing," says Margot Page, who lives in Vermont and calls herself a "fishermom." A well-known fly-fisher, she's passing the fishing tradition on to her daughter. "I'd rather call it water treatment. Yes, it's about the line and these wild flashes of light you see in the stream, but it's really the water that we go to and the water we've always gone to. When you become more familiar with the creatures that inhabit water, you are drawn to see them, to connect somehow. But it starts with the water."

Life Lessons
Why is fishing important for children?

Not everyone believes it is; some people contend that fishing teaches children that hurting animals is fine. Without getting into the complicated scientific question of whether fish feel pain as we know it, I believe that angling—if adults introduce their children to it—can be an important experience.

Traditionally, fishing is one of the ways that children are introduced to nature—an introduction made more important each day by a growing separation of children from nature. The kind of freedom, and access to nature, that so many of us enjoyed when we were children seems a quaint artifact in an era of kid pagers, mall rats, and Nintendo bass fishing games.

As my sons assure me, there is much that is good about today's childhood. Still, I wonder about the messages we send to our kids.

Fishing offers children a way to learn about our role as stewards of nature—about preventing pollution, about releasing fish we do not intend to eat, and eating the ones we injure. Indeed, many anglers, and I'm one of them, now prefer to release their fish, to fight another day. The fish seem to prefer it, too. Nonetheless, taking a few fish home to clean and eat can be a valuable lesson to a child who may assume that all food is born plastic-wrapped.

"We're genetically hunters and gatherers so there's a deep impulse in children to harvest fish and animals in a sensitive fashion," says David Sobel, co-director of the Antioch College Center for Environmental Education. "Fishing, when done in a respectful, spiritual fashion, provides an authentic opportunity for bonding with the natural world."

Ah, but this is all too serious. Fishing is fun, especially for kids. Some of us never outgrow it.

FISHING TIPS FOR PARENTS FROM MATTHEW LOUV (AGE 12)

1. Fish with your kid.
2. Let your kids go fishing, even if you don't want to take them.
3. Let your kids buy supplies and tackle. That's half the fun of fishing.
4. If your kids are young, take them to a place where fish are easy to catch and are small.
5. Let kids fish as long as they want. Let them get obsessed.
6. Let the kids go off and do their own thing. It can get to be incredibly annoying and/or frustrating if there's an adult standing over them barking orders.
7. At least pretend to act excited when your kid catches a fish. It can quickly ruin a day of fishing if the kid feels you don't want to be there, and they're just dragging you down.
8. If you know how to fish, don't give your kid too much unsolicited advice, although it can be helpful if the kid is young.
9. Let your kid teach you how to fish; participate in the fishing. This can be quality bonding time.
10. Remember that fishing and spending time with family is just as, or more important than, homework.
11. Have fun; that's the entire point of going fishing in the first place. And whatever you do, DON'T LET YOUR KID THROW ROCKS IN THE WATER!

Matthew Louv, who is 12 years-old, started his fishing career at age 3, in the humidifier at home.

Richard Louv is the author of Fly-Fishing for Sharks: An Angler's Journey Across America (Simon & Schuster), and a columnist for The San Diego Union-Tribune. For more information about the book, visit www.flyfishingforsharks.com.