That's me, grinning like a fool on the Snake River last summer. I was in Jackson, WY posing quickly with the very first trout I caught fly fishing.
When I was about 6 years old I caught my first-ever fish with a spinning rod on Spirit Lake in Northwest Iowa. It was a fair-sized Northern Pike, all teeth and splattered blood and guts. To this day I remember telling my Uncle Ralph I didn't know that I was going to kill it.
Fast-forward to a few years ago when I decided to take up fly fishing. Don't ask me why. Maybe it was the great Norman Maclean book, "A River Runs Through It." It wasn't a bad flick either.
After a summer on our neighborhood lake I got adept at clumsily casting for small mouth bass and blue gill. I even worked up the nerve to talk about my new hobby with an old friend and colleague who was also self-taught. He started as a kid at Belmont Harbor in Chicago, and shared with me stories about fishing out West, in Wisconsin, Florida and Belize. All that helped me get hooked.
A few summers back I tried in earnest to fly fish in the Black Hills of South Dakota. I got skunked after hours and hours of trying, but no matter. The scenery was beautiful and I learned that the real reward was in trying.
Last summer, after my eldest son graduated from high school, we all traveled to Wyoming to celebrate. One day we went out on the river with a guide. Drift boating on the Snake is a combination of fishing and whitewater rafting. Everything happens fast.
After about 10 casts, my son, Matt, latched onto his first cutthroat. About two hours later, with my right arm numb from casting, I tricked the prize pictured here to my dry fly, set the hook properly, stripped about 20 feet of line and brought him safely to the boat. Less than 30 seconds later he was back in the water, and with one powerful tail flick, off to deeper waters no worse for wear.
Every once in a while I'm reminded of that fish and I break out in the same silly grin you see on this page.