Pennance TR, part 1

Okay, I owe you one, to say the least. In keeping with typical verbosity,
I've broken into two parts.

Sometimes, you just play it by ear. So it was this past October as the date
for my annual salmon fishing trip approached. Frankly, I wasn't up for it.
My 8 wt was graphite trash, and my interest was at an all-time low. I
literally hadn't touched a fly rod since my 2004 trip to Altmar. The
weather reports made it clear that the river would be at unfishable levels;
in fact, one fisherman had already drowned, insanely trying to cross at
Black Hole at 1500 cfs. The river was already up to 2000 cfs. And the
forecast was for rain all weekend. It was not looking good.



After all, this traditional "buddy trip" between Craig & I had expanded and
changed in the decade or so since it began. We no longer drove up together
or back together. Because I'd begun bringing my son, we didn't stay in the
same room; and he had invited a couple of his other friends to join him. It
didn't seem as though my presence was necessary. The school board, having
failed to consult with me about my plans, had scheduled #1 son's PSAT on the
very Saturday we were to be fishing. The usual plan to take off Friday &
leave Thursday night was in the dumper. Saturday afternoon was the earliest
possible departure. Adding to the black cloud over the trip was an
unfortunate piece-of-**** but serious legal issue that required me to be
home on Monday morning to call a lawyer. All of this together spelled one
thing - forget the trip. Why in hell would I want to drive 6 hours and
spend a couple hundred dollars to not fish for one day?



Enter guilt and selfishness. Craig's buddies backed out, and #1 son really
wants to go, despite failing to bring up his grades as agreed. The
unavoidable truth is, I really want to go with him. The trips he's gone on
have been some of our best father and son times together (along with the
kayak project), and I don't want to miss that. Even if he hasn't earned the
trip for his own enjoyment, I want him there for mine. At the last minute,
over lunch Saturday, I delay the lawyer call to Tuesday, take off Monday,
and by 1:00, we're on the road north with SWMBO's bitching fading from my
ears. I can taste the Balvenie already.



With son's new iPod blasting teenage rock music through the FM transmitter,
we're already not in Kansas anymore, and our atmospheres and attitudes shift
into fun mode. We make Altmar with some daylight remaining, and walk over
to the bridge to check out the river. Yup, it's really high. Nope, not
fishing there. But that doesn't matter for now; we're here, and here is
where we forget about everything else for a day or two.



Craig spots us and meets us in the street and begins lying about how he
caught so many fish today his arms hurt. Not in this river, he didn't; but
he wasn't in this river. He had spent the day with a guide about 45 minutes
north on ***** Creek, and it had been almost one fish after another. He
thinks he remembers how to get there.

rb608 wrote:
Okay, I owe you one, to say the least. In keeping with typical
verbosity, I've broken into two parts.

And both parts were equally enjoyable. Thanks, Joe.
--
TL,
Tim
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http://css.sbcma.com/timj/