My hiatus from local fishing reporting ends today. I’ve left it to others to provide you blow by blow accounts of middle west cold water conquests. Those of us who have chosen the path of blogdum are always faced with the blank page. What path do we chose to fill our infinitely scrolling publication? Long ago I opted to not be a resource for up to the minute fishing reports, water conditions or pseudo fly industry/culture babble. Mine is more editorial in nature. Within the spectrum of said editorial, lies the family photo album component of my plight. If you’ve landed at this destination with hopes of hardcore fishing exploits, today is not your day (though I will dangle the carrot of greener pastures just ahead). This is the fulfillment of a promise. An agreement I made with Ava that she’d get an opportunity to complete her “spring break slam” by entertaining a healthy round of Brook Troutin’. I agreed to write about it if she sealed the deal. The conventional rules of adult fishing need not apply. This is elementary school folks. There will be no statute of limitations on completing the slam, since we got washed out of our first attempt earlier this spring. We just picked up where we left off to complete her trifecta of a Brook, Brown and Bow (minus our traditional warm-up of midday pancakes).



I selfishly plotted and plundered my way through the peak season without taking the kids trout fishing. Upon my return from Colorado, the reminder to “pay it forward” was my first order of business. The conditions were far from ideal. It was a stifling hot, bluebird sky sort of day. We had no grandiose plans of rolling up huge numbers. As with all youth fishing it was more about the adventure and entertainment, than the casting and retrieving. No rise forms were spotted, and it didn’t matter anyway since my fly rod never made it out of the car. I told myself that if there were easy fish to be had we’d entertain some fly fishing education, but it just didn’t materialize. Our usual run to Lund’s reignited Jack’s love affair with the pocket knife, and provided us a handful of “lucky” Panther Martin spinners. The kid has a Dexter-like fascination with knives, which I don’t spend much time worrying about since he’s a chip off the old block. Upon extraction from the checkout begging, we set course to scout for holding water.



After regaling you with every aspect of my last few posts, brevity will be paramount in this instance. Suffice it say, the usual spots were not giving up their secrets with ease. We had to work for everything we got. It mattered little as all we needed was one fish to complete the task at hand. The pride is written all over Ava’s face. The fact that she refers to that fish as “my” Brook Trout says it all. Does anyone really own any fish? From a mental standpoint, hell yes. The value of quality time with your kids goes without saying. It may make for subpar blog content. But this is my world, and the transfer of the outdoors stewardship to the next generation is an immeasurable return on investment.