What do you remember about the family vacations of your childhood? I remember how those vacations made me feel rather than individual events. Instead of remembering the details of a each day I recall a composite feeling associated with different places. This might be because we spent every summer in pretty much the same way.
Every year from the time I could remember through college we drove to Montana for two weeks of flyfishing. Each day was the same. We would start by driving to a new river. If there was something interesting along the way we'd stop to see the sights. Most importantly, though, we'd arrive and set up camp in time to fish the evening hatch.
The first night was usually spent somewhere in Eastern Washington or the Idaho Panhandle. The first night of fishing (and therefore the first real night of vacation) was spent at Rock Creek.
Ten years' worth of dry fly hatches, nymphing, and walking up the river as the sun set have coalesced into a sense of contentment that has little to do with whether we caught fish or not. (Of course, Rock Creek was the kind of fishery that rarely left you skunked let alone with low numbers of fish.)
My father and I returned to Rock Creek this Fall on our way to fish the Missouri River near Helena. The leaves were just starting to turn and the caddis were still out. We had two good days on the river (one evening, one morning) though we never hit it big like I seem to remember we always used to. Instead, we caught enough fish to keep us happy and let the experience merge into the lore of the place.
In five or 10 years I won't be able to look back on these two days an pick out any specifics. However, my memory of Rock Creek has now expanded to include Fall colors. And, of course, my father will always be part of Rock Creek.
