And I remember my father's beaming smile as I played my first fly caught trout at least as vividly as I remember my own son's barbaric yawp when he hooked his very first fish, a six inch pumpkinseed.
Fishing - fly fishing in particular I think - is tailor made for fathers and their sons. There's a learning curve: different ways to cast, knots to tie, rivers to wade, currents to master. Fathers are the teachers, sons are the students, and the outdoors is their classroom.
And all of this is mentioned by way of introduction.
Two weeks ago, Shawn took his son RJ to the Salmon River in western New York. Along for the ride was Tim Daughton and his son Holden. Two fathers - both Orvis employees - and their adolescent sons sharing the water, sharing their passion. Good to see ... really good to see.
|Wading into the river, Shawn asked his son if he felt ready to do battle. RJ's Reply ... I feel like a warrior. Warrior indeed ... that switch rod is nearly three times the size of the boy.
|Tim and Holden bonding over a rapidly decomposing mud shark. Watching a hundred or so of those things beat the gravel with their tails, and get their collective groove on is something to see. Well done fellas ...
|Who is holding who? Looks like the fish is smiling, and RJ is just wishing the photographer would do his job already. Good stuff regardless.