My dad taught me how to cast–Maclean style on the back lawn. He taught me how to tie my first fly–a woolly worm. We’ve spent time on rivers and lakes and in cars and trucks traveling to and from those places. I believe those moments can’t be obtained in other ways, not exactly. Something about fishing and traveling and talking, its not the kind of thing you can get from other sources.
This past week my father came to town and we spent a day chasing trout. My dad is 71 now and he struggles to tie on flies. He can’t wade and fish as hard as he used to. But he still wants to be on the river with me. And as long as he does I’ll be there tying on his flies and hoping he hooks up. He managed a 17-inch rainbow (not pictured) and while I’ll probably forget most of the fish I caught that day, I hope to remember that fish of his.