Born a red-head with a hot temper, short fuse and very little patience; I butted heads with my Pop often. He taught me to fly fish when I was a teenager and we finally found common ground. I’ll never forget the first time I eventually laid the perfect fly to float right over the perfect fish, seeing those little fish lips slurp it up, and hearing my Dad celebrate loudly as I set the hook. This connection we found was unexpected. He taught me about the species of fish, how to spot them, how to match the hatch and tie flies, cast in tough spots (and wind), lay a fly down on the water, float it just right, set the hook, and thank the fish for their sacrifice. (Although we released them every time). Fly fishing with my Pop taught me patience and cooled my temper. I take these lessons and apply then to my life. So my experience is not one, but a lifetime of memories. My Dad passed just a couple of years ago and it has been the toughest thing to get back on the river without him….but the river was our “church” and it will forever connect us.