44 years of chasing Steelhead
We all remember our first cup of coffee. I will never forget mine as it came from my father’s grizzled coffee mug on the banks of the river. While both fly fishing on the Pere Marquette together, I had a coming of age moment. I was 15 years old at the time. We were sitting on the shore together taking a break from the gear busting silver steels. He had offered me a steaming cup of coffee from his thermos. I knew what coffee was however I had never had it before. I was a mountain dew kind of a kid. I thought to myself why not, as I was growing weary from the day’s adventures. I looked at the cup of coffee. It was as black as oil with what looked like smoke coming from it. I slugged it down in mere seconds and immediately spit it back out into the river. Hence was the beginning of sharing coffee with my father on the river. It only took me another 25 years to get used to it!