Faith, Family, Fly Fishing, Legacy
The Beginning
I don’t know why we ended up there. A small three-bedroom house shared with my three brothers and sister. A creek no more than thirty yards from the back door with a deep fishing hole beneath the small wooden bridge that connected one side of Griff Creek to the other.
This place was different.
Not the concrete and pavement of Los Angeles where we had just come from. Here there were giant pines that rustled in the wind and the constant sound of Griff Creek as it made its way toward Lake Tahoe. It was a living sound. A constant reminder that the creek was alive.
The pull of that creek on me was incredible.
And the fish…
They called to me. Not literally, of course, but in the knowledge that they were there. Waiting.
This is where it began.
The obsession with fishing. Exploring the creek that flowed behind our home. The waters that would shape the rest of my life.
My father carried that same passion, though his waters were larger. His waters were Lake Tahoe.
He was the fisherman.
He bought a small sixteen-foot, four-seat boat. Nothing special. Just something we could fish from. And fish we did.
We trolled Crystal Bay with custom fly fishing flies and caught trout off the east side of Crystal Bay Point. Later, after the boat was sold, we fished from a double-decker pier on the east side of the lake using hand tied trout flies we trapped ourselves. We brought a small hibachi and cooked breakfast while we fished.
Those were the memories.
That was the gift my father gave me.
His passion.
My mother gave something equally important.
She was the spiritual leader of our home. She taught us our Christian faith while quietly standing behind the scenes. She was the rock of our family. The glue that held it together.
She had a kind and gentle heart and sometimes she would sit with me on that small wooden bridge over Griff Creek and fish beside me.
My brothers and sister fished too, but it was me who carried the obsession.
I rarely remember them joining my father and me on that double-decker pier. It was usually the two of us gathering memories and keeping the flame alive.
As I grew older, time on the creek and pier became less frequent. School. Work. Responsibility.
Then in 1983, my father passed away.
I have never returned to that double-decker pier since.
My mother passed in 1986, only three years later. The glue that held our family together was gone.
All that remained were the gifts they left behind:
My father’s passion.
My mother’s faith.
Life moved on.
I built my own family and career in Sacramento. New home. New waters.
The same passion.
The same faith.
I fished the Sacramento River for striper and salmon and the American River for salmon and trout. The passion never left.
Faith became where I found my identity — as a man, husband, and father.
This journey has always been more than fishing.
Fishing was simply the vehicle.
My story is not unique. There are thousands like it. Fathers passing down their love for fishing. Mothers passing down faith. Families changing. Waters changing. Children growing and finding new homes and new rivers.
This is heritage.
Not only mine, but the heritage shared by all of us who carry those gifts forward.
Because in the end what remains is legacy.
That is what Pennino Outdoors is about.
Not flies.
Not boxes.
Those are byproducts.
Pennino Outdoors is about the gifts passed down. Faith. Family. Passion. The waters that keep those memories alive.
It is about leaving a legacy for those who follow, including thoughtfully crafted fly fishing gifts like the engraved fly box or a beautifully made wooden fly box.
