Brothers

Brothers. What are you going to do? My younger brother Pete saw my comments about John in the last post and picked right up on it. He has been known to bait the two of us around the campfire, trying his best to get an argument going. And his best is pretty good.

In this photo Pete took on a trip to the Grande Ronde a few years ago John and I are obviously getting along rather well.

But in an adjoining dialogue in the email in which he sent the photo Pete picks up on the negative yet again. Still baiting. And he throws in brother Mark for good measure:

John speaking: "Jim, I've got to say I'm a bit disappointed. I tell you exactly what to do to catch fish, and then you go out there and do whatever the hell you want to."

 

Jim's response: "Did you see that woman fly fisher this afternoon? Nearly as sweet as Miss Wyoming. Or was it Miss Montana? Anyway, she looked at me."

 

Mark's response: "I saw her. She wanted to do me right there. I'm not kidding."

 

Pete's response: "Hand me another beer."

I have to hand it to Pete. In a few brief lines he pretty much nails it.

There are some factual errors, however. It was "Miss Missouri," named such by me in subsequent reminiscence because she was beautiful, and she told me she was from Missouri. When she talked to me. While we stood out in the Henry's Fork on a peaceful August evening. First time on the Fork. First time fly fishing. Looking at me with her big eyes. Asking about her fly--"do you think this will work?" Wondering about her casting stroke--"How am I doing? Like this...?"

So I said, "Wait here. I'll go get my brother John. He knows a lot more than I do."

The actual Miss Missouri Pool, the Henry's Fork

So. Where was I?

Oh yeah. Brothers. What are you going to do?

Give thanks for them every day. Love them. And go fishing with them every chance you get.