Bonding Over Brookies.

Yesterday we took the younger son and his girlfriend flyfishing for brook trout on the North Branch of the Ausable. The single day's drive was brutal, the sun was penetrating, the air was hot, the water was low, and the fishing was so-so. But the experience was priceless. The girlfriend, being a flyfishing greenhorn, naturally caught the nicest fish of the day. The son, full of pomp and hubris, naturally was skunked. Your correspondent held his own, but acknowledged that his pace to wade a stream was not quite that of the young folk ("SLOW DOWN! Flyfishing is not a scavenger hunt, son!"). Perhaps fishing colleagues would observe our tendency toward the phelgmatic, though. Our heart skipped a beat when a very nice brown cruised through the pool we were working. He was searching for a cool shady spot and was having none of our offerings.

After five hours of hard fishing, we pulled off our waders and paid a visit with Grandpa and Grandma; caught up with local happenings (forest fires, song birds, and variae), then dined at one of the storied dives of Northern Michigan - the Whitehouse Diner in Clare.

A wonderful day spent with people we love!