A visit this week with my venerable uncle, Kendall Warner, rekindled fond memories of fishing trips taken with him and my late father, Bill Warner – the two men who have had the most profound influence on my life and on my appreciation for my family heritage.

Being stuck in a small boat in the middle of a lake helps make fishing an effective forum for family bonding. And fishing holds a traditionally important place in my family.

My great-grandfather, Dr. William C. Kendall, was a renowned fisheries biologist in the late 1800s and early 1900s. Despite earning a medical degree from Georgetown University, he instead chose to work for the government as an ichthyologist and developed a reputation as one of the leading experts in the field.

At one time, Dr. Kendall even boasted one of the largest landlocked salmon ever caught – 30-plus inches, 16 pounds, 1 ounce – which he plucked from Sebago Lake in southern Maine in 1907. There aren’t likely to be many that size caught in Maine waters again.

To guarantee he could continue to enjoy the fishing, hunting, and serenity of the area, Dr. Kendall bought land at Sebago, on Raymond Cape. That precious piece of property has remained in the family, allowing four more generations to enjoy its many benefits.

Inspired by my great-grandfather’s passion for fishing, hunting, and a general love of the outdoors, Ken has made fisheries biology his life’s work. He enjoyed a 50-plus-year career with the Maine Department of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife and earned a reputation as one of the most knowledgeable landlocked salmon biologists anywhere.

Ken retired from his position as fisheries management supervisor in 2002, although he has volunteered his time in the Bangor office ever since.

Earlier this summer, a book he co-wrote with fellow biologist David Boucher entitled “Maine Landlocked Salmon: Life History, Ecology, and Management” was published. Back in 1985, Ken and the late Keith Havey had first collaborated on “Life History, Ecology and Management of Maine Landlocked Salmon,” which served as the foundation for the most recent work.

I am amazed by my uncle’s vast knowledge of fish and fishing. I was able to glean lots of information from Ken during many fishing trips with him and my dad.

As the elder statesman of the Warner family, and the person most well-versed in successful salmon fishing techniques at Sebago, Ken always occupied the stern seat and was responsible for putting us onto fish. Invariably, he did.

Those excursions produced many great memories, but it wasn’t until many years later that I learned to appreciate Ken’s keen sense of humor.

He and my dad would work off each other, like a comedy team, and invariably break out laughing at their own banter. One of their favorite subjects was how “Aunt Minnie” bullied her husband, “Uncle Lawrence,” at family gatherings many years earlier.

When I was a kid, “slow” fishing had me concocting myriad reasons why we should reel in and head back to camp. Ken never forgot a one.

“So, Peter, are you sick, tired, hungry, cold, bored or have to go pee yet?” Ken would ask, unable to restrain his deep, resonant laugh.

They usually made me stick it out until they were ready to quit or “give up the ghost,” as they were prone to say.

Ken and Dad also enjoyed recounting their early fishing experiences. They told how in Dr. Kendall’s day, fishermen either paddled canoes or double-ender rowboats to “troll” around the lake.

We, of course, had the benefit of a 6-horsepower Johnson outboard, which enabled us to cover a lot of fishing territory.

Ken is an aficionado of the large Pflueger Sal-Trout reels upon which you can spool a couple hundred yards of lead-core line. I was amazed how deftly he could simultaneously fight a fish, wind the line evenly back onto the reel, and keep the boat on course, on the windiest of days, all while smoking his corncob pipe.

The smell of Half and Half Burley and Bright tobacco also elicits thoughts of days spent together at camp.

Because Ken had at that point remained a bachelor for a long time, he developed a knack for cooking. Staples included finnan haddie, served with creamy egg sauce.

He also treated us to a kidney stew – a gravy-bathed concoction made with lamb kidneys that still hits the spot every time – and biscuits.

And our outdoor adventures weren’t solely limited to fishing.

During the ’60s, Ken worked out of the Ashland fish and wildlife office. I recall we once needed snowshoes to negotiate the deep powder on an ice fishing trip to his camp on Big Machias Lake.

One of Ken’s breakfast specialties was fried smelts. They were delicious, right down to the crunchy tails, which he convinced me to eat. He also got me hooked both on pickled eggs and pickled clams and, when I was a little older, made sure I got the recipes (mine never tasted nearly as good as his).

Ken also treated my sister Anne and I to snowmobile rides around his “back forty” on a few occasions. This was in the good ol’ days of the top-heavy Bombardier Ski-Doos, but Ken maneuvered the sled like a pro.

That brings to mind an ice fishing excursion to Tunk Lake in Hancock County. It was a cold, windy day on the lake, which was a glare of ice from end to end.

We were accompanied by my father; one of Ken’s former co-workers, the late Owen Fenderson; and his two sons. I remember wearing an old hooded Eskimo coat Dr. Kendall had brought back from a trip to the Arctic with famed explorer Donald B. MacMillan and diving headlong across the ice.

Those were the days.

Uncle Ken and I haven’t been fishing together for a number of years. After he got married (to my former kindergarten teacher, Sandra Noyes), he began passing on his fishing legacy first to her, then to his daughters, Kendra and Leanne and, most recently to Kent, his eldest grandchild.

My wife, Annia, and our sons, Will and Paul, also have wetted a line together.

Looking back, the reason I’m so passionate about fishing is because of the love and camaraderie I shared on those many trips with Ken and my father.

Thanks, Ken, for helping me better appreciate and enjoy a pastime that is such a critical part of our family heritage.