The river is big but it's August so there is plenty of room to walk along the banks without having to brave the strong current. Both of my boys and my nephew, Telson, have come along to explore a place none of us have been to on the south side of Mt. St. Helens...Of course, it doesn't take long and the boys are goofing along the shore while I'm still diligently fishing and trying to get a 50 foot cast to go 60 feet... This is one of those simple rivers and my fly selection is about as simple as it gets: orange Caddis, then orange Stimulator, then orange Humpy. They all work... The sun has been behind the sharp hillside for over an hour and we only have about 45 minutes of light left so I look to see where the boys are.
They are fifty yards down river, kneeling over a large, flat rock. My youngest has challenged his big brother to an arm-wrestling contest and for the first time in his life he wins. He yells upriver at me.
"Hey, Dad. I beat him! Twice!..."
"Nice." I return.
They come up to watch me for a while and then wander off to whittle marshmallow sticks for later. I thought these times would fade as the boys left high school and became men but here we are, giving me a deja vu moment that takes me back to when they were six and eight and playing in the rocks behind me while I fished. I guess some things don't change as fast as I think they do.
It turns out to be a good evening, with six or seven fish landed before I quit. And all on dries... It has been hard to see my fly on the water for some time now so I turn to shout and tell the boys it's time to leave.
They are downriver again, each bent over a stick, knives in hand.
"Hey!" I shout. "I'm not going to wait all night for you guys! Let's go..."
They grin and give it back to me just as good.
"Yah, Dad. Just one more cast, right?"
"We'll go when we see you actually go..."
I love fly fishing with my boys. Even when that's really not what we're doing together...
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