Except this time there was a pretty good excuse. The whole place is on fire. In fact, most of Eastern Washington is ablaze. For those of you outside the Northwest, you can think of Washington as two states. To the west of the Cascades is wet and mossy. That's the home of the Starbucks-sipping, Subaru-driving, REI-buying amphibians that like the rain. On the east side of the mountains it's dry, verging on desert, where pick up trucks are to haul apples and wheat and cows.

Grandpa Jack's cabin is on the east side of the mountains in a land of rivers and lakes full of fish. Henry and I were going to visit him, but really to go fishing. (For those of you from the east side of the mountains: fishin'.)

To get there we zipped over the mountains and down into the lowlands along the Columbia River. That's where we were told the road was closed because there was fire on both sides. (Apparently, fire on one side of the road is ok.) We'd been able to smell and see the smoke for miles, but this was too much so we were routed way east around the fires adding about an hour and a half to our drive.

It's good we started late because Henry was asleep when I was speeding down a country road in the black of night, stealing glances to the north in hopes of seeing the flames. That's when it jumped out in front of the car.

TUMBLEWEED!

I screamed (not unlike a little girl), but did as my father taught me and drove through it. (Or was that Days of Thunder?) I didn't hit any race cars (definitely Days of Thunder) and didn't sacrifice myself to save the tumbleweed. (Pretty sure that was Dad's advice.) We crashed (poor choice of words) when we got to the cabin in preparation for the next day of fishing.

Of course, Henry's eight. You might recall that when fishing with kids there are a couple of rules to play by:

Make sure you catch some fish. I know it's called "fishing" and not "catching," but if you want fishing to catch on with the littles it better not be too much of a zen experience. Grandpa Jack assured me this wouldn't be a problem and judging from our trip to Davis Lake last year I certainly wasn't worried.

Make sure it's pretty. It doesn't have to be drop dead gorgeous like the Enchantments or Robin Lakes, but it should have some aesthetic value.

Make sure it's not too hard to get to. No problem there. Grandpa Jack is renowned for finding fishing that is accessible. As he says, "It's a long hike to the lake. Maybe 20 or 30 feet."

Buzzard Lake fit the bill. It was only an hour or so from the cabin (past the marvelous Blue Star Coffee Roasters in Twisp) and promised many decent sized fish. And cows. Lots of cows. Henry enjoyed mooing at them. They apparently liked mooing back.

The fishing was slow. We caught three or four over two hours. Henry checked out after about an hour, but since he had his own bellyboat to paddle around (with a lifejacket) he was content to let Grandpa Jack and me try a little longer. We caught no more, but it wasn't a failure.

Fishing on a lake is about surrendering to the stillness and the measured pace of the water. You can't hurry your cast or strip a fly any quicker than the bug would actually move. Instead, you can slowly paddle up and down the lake with your father on one side and your son on the other.

On our way back we could see the enormous plumes of smoke from the next valley to the west. That's where Lake Chelan was burning as part of the Reach Complex. The news showed the fire burning through vacation houses and full time residences without distinction. We had family in Chelan several years ago so we'd become very familiar and fond of the small town and could only imagine what the people who lived there were feeling.

As we drove home along the Columbia River the next day we saw small spot fires burning along the road and the ties on the railroad tracks were still smoking. There were no detours so it was a quicker drive home.

Over the next few weeks the fires would become national news. We learned that the fires had burned across my father's valley (his cabin was spared for the second year in a row) and made it all the way to Buzzard Lake. When we go back it'll be interesting to see the damage and how nature recovers. Hopefully Henry will remember what it was like this time and can contrast the two visits.

And hopefully we'll catch more fish.