We are empty nesters for a few weeks and for the first time ever.
“Let’s go fly fishing,” Mrs. T. said. “I’d love to learn.”
“Really?”
So, many moons ago, we booked a long weekend up at northern New Hampshire, at the spot where I taught each of our children to fish. A rite of passage in our family (prior post here).
It is a simple but wonderful time. A small but clean room at a lodge. A quick drive to the same river that initiated our children into the beauty and challenges of fly fishing. Early sunrises and late sunsets, as we are far north. Bracingly-cold water. A view of a placid lake when I get up early to stay current with work, tie flies and enjoy a quiet summer dawn.
Our days are simple, too: she fishes, I guide.
After a day of coaching, I retreated to the bank to let her do her work and find and land fish on her own. I went over to rotate flies and net her fish, but Mrs. T. was a quick study and did everything else.
I think Mrs. T. is a natural. On her first half day, she landed over 25 fish, including a few doubles!
