A FATHER'S FISHING EXPERIENCE; SUCCESS WAS NOT IN CATCH BUT IN CAMARADERIE.

Byline: Jim Bookout Daily News Staff Writer

Of all the questions ever asked by my now 10-year-old daughter, the following one was the least expected: ``Daddy, will you teach me to fish?''

My reply: ``Sure, sweetheart, no problem.''

Problem. To say that I'm inexperienced in fishing could be considered the understatement that got away.

The last time I even held a rod and reel was 10 years ago, when we were visiting my brother-in-law and his family in Minneapolis. Aboard his boat on Lake Minnetonka, he handed me a rod (hook already baited and ready to go), told me to cast the line anywhere and I'd be bound to catch something. I did, and I did.

It was the first fish I'd ever caught, and as I reeled it in, I wondered: (a) exactly what was it that I had caught (a rather average-size sunfish, my brother-in-law informed me); and (b) where had fishing been all my life?

Having grown up a mile from the ocean, I have childhood memories of maybe a dozen or so angling outings with my dad, my sister, neighbors, fishing mostly off the Redondo Pier, with a couple of half-day excursions on party boats thrown in. But I don't remember anyone around me ever catching anything except, as in my case, seaweed.

So, by the time I reached high school age, I made a decision: If you can't catch 'em, join 'em - and my interest shifted away from the out-of-water (fishing) toward the in-water (body surfing).

As I became an adult, a husband and then a father, I became involved in a variety of recreational pursuits. Fishing was not among them. Then came that trip to Minnesota, and fishing was back in my life, though only in the background.

Now, 10 years later, the sight of anglers in a boat, on a pier or on the rocks has moved very much to the foreground, particularly when viewed through the eyes of a 10-year-old who's seeing it all for the first time and wants to be a part of it.

Where to begin? How about the rod and reel.

My daughter, Amanda, was way ahead of me; for Christmas she and my wife had picked out father-and-daughter starter kits.

``OK, Daddy, let's go fishing!''

``I'm afraid there's a little more to it than that, sweetheart,'' I replied. Her smile disappeared. ``Like what?'' she asked cautiously.

``We need to figure out where we're going fishing and at what time. We need bait. You need to learn how to cast your line. We need something to carry home the fish we catch.'' And so on.

``OK,'' she conceded reluctantly.

As a prelude to our angling adventure, we went to Fred Hall's Western Fishing Tackle and Boat Show in Long Beach. At Buck Potter's Bass Bin, we heard about an area nearby where kids, with the help of volunteers from the Department of Fish and Game, could practice casting.

After a short wait in line, our daughter was given a short rod and reel, some basic instruction and was ready for her first cast. She aimed, released, and . . . whack! The lure landed about two feet in front of her and about 12 feet shy of the target. She tried again. Better; about four feet in front of her. Finally getting the hang of the reel mechanism, she made her third and final cast. This time she got the lure past the first target, past the second target and past the far boundary of the practice area. The DFG volunteers, my wife and I agreed: ``She's ready.''

Two weeks later, we headed for a tackle shop near home. There, the proprietor outfitted us with the basics and taught us how to tie a palomar knot - ``The only knot you'll ever need to know,'' he said with confidence.

We then headed for the lake at Kenneth Hahn State Recreation Area in Baldwin Hills. My daughter made her first cast, and it was a good one, landing in about the middle of the lake.

My first cast in a decade, however, closely resembled my daughter's first cast two weeks earlier. I tried again; the same result.

I turned to my daughter: ``Since you've had more recent experience, why don't you show me how it's done.''

She cast my line flawlessly to the center of the lake and handed me back my rod. We each stared at our bobbers, tautening our lines and waited. Several minutes passed. My daughter reeled in her line. She caught something; it turned out to be a small, weed-covered branch. We unhooked the branch and baited up. She cast again.

Unfortunately, the cast went awry and my daughter ended up hooking the pant leg of a nearby angler. A few moments later, the hook was removed, and the angler moved to another location. My daughter cast again. This time the lure landed in lake's center.

More time passed. She cast again, and again. So did I. The afternoon passed quickly. Fishless, we headed for home.

``So, how do you like fishing?''

``That was fun, Daddy!''

The following Saturday, we tried it again. Same lake. Different location. At the end of the day, my daughter and I again came away empty-handed.

The next time out, we headed to Echo Park for the annual Becky Thatcher/Tom Sawyer Fishing Derby.

Registering for the derby meant going through a five-step course in fishing basics. We learned how to identify and handle various kinds of fish, tackle, bait, knots, casting and the canons of the ethical angler - come prepared, be safe and responsible at all times, obey all fishing regulations and leave the area at least as clean as you found it.

With all the experience from previous outings plus the crash course in fishing basics, we figured this had to be the day when we'd come home with something in our creel.

Wrong. After two hours, in which I spent at least as much time untangling and re-tying my daughter's line as I did casting my own line, we packed up our gear and consoled ourselves with 30 minutes of paddle-boat entertainment.

We learned a lot at Echo Park Lake. The following weekend, for example, we discovered that fishing lines and paddle boats do not necessarily mix well. We returned to Hahn Park, where we spent parts of three recent weekends trying out a variety of lakeside locations.

So far, my daughter and I have had nothing to show on our stringer. But our angling techniques have improved, with a few notable exceptions - like when Mandy hooked her ponytail, and, later, my right shirt sleeve. No harm, no foul.

And no fish. I'm beginning to feel like an angler's version of Susan Lucci on Emmy night.

So, what do you think about when you're standing there not catching fish?

Lately, I've been thinking of that scene in ``The Godfather: Part II,'' in which Fredo Corleone shares his secret of catching fish with his young nephew: ``Every time I dropped my line in the water, I said a `hail Mary.' And every time I said a `hail Mary,' I caught a fish.''

No, I haven't tried that - yet.

And what does my daughter think about? ``Daddy, someday I know we'll catch a fish.''

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2 Photos

Photo: (1--2--color) Staff Writer Jim Bookout untangles his line while daughter Mandy continues to fish at the Kenneth Hahn State Recreation Area.

John McCoy / Daily News