The little brown trout kicked away fast, and it was my turn to fish.
“Seems like the fish are getting smaller.” I said, casting my fly.
“Yeah, I’m surprised you wanted a picture of the last one.”
“Small fish have feelings too, Mark.”
“You know, Erik, you are so wise beyond your years.” Mark finished, in a calm philosophical voice.
“Well thanks, Mark.” I replied, with my own version of a philosophical voice, “I try to look at all creatures of life...”.
“Whoa baby!” Mark yelled, looking off to his left at my fly, that was just taken by a fish.
I had completely missed the take, but I set the hook just in time.
“There I was, dinking around instead of paying attention again.” I said, fighting my fish.
“Well with those Erik Moncada reflexes you have...” Mark said, trailing off to hand me the net. One swift scoop was all I needed to capture my fish.
“Oh browny like Erik!” Mark laughed, as I pulled up a nice-sized brown trout.
On the way back to the cabin, Mark pulled over so that I could snap a picture of some antelope we saw near the road.
“That’s a beautiful shot, and with that mountain in the back drop...” Mark stopped his sentence, failing to find the words to describe the beauty of Montana.
We arrived at the cabin where we got to see my grandfather and Lois before bed time. Arriving late the night before and waking up early to hit the river had really taken it out of us. As my little brother would say, no better sleeping pill.