Let’s Pass the ‘A River Runs Through It’ Act
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When I was a boy, the fishing expeditions to Montana’s Blackfoot River launched from our family cabin at nearby Seeley Lake were the high points of summer.
The trips followed a ritual that began with a period of longing during the cold winter months. Once the family reestablished itself for the summer at the cabin, as we did every year, anticipation turned to action.
“The barometer’s up; tomorrow will be a good day for fishing,” my father would declare, glancing at the barometer on the mantlepie
The trips followed a ritual that began with a period of longing during the cold winter months. Once the family reestablished itself for the summer at the cabin, as we did every year, anticipation turned to action.
“The barometer’s up; tomorrow will be a good day for fishing,” my father would declare, glancing at the barometer on the mantlepie
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