Thanks much Jim. And I will use some of the stories in my book, unless an individual expresses being adverse to that. Good piece Steel69! -- I'm up briefly while the dog is out, but I'll get back to sleep quicker if I get a couple short stories off my mind now. -- I spent my first 6 years of life in N.W. Montana. The first fish I ever caught was on a branch with string and a bent safety pin with small worm. We had taken a family drive up from Missoula and my brothers and I wanted to try to catch a fish out of Flathead Lake. It worked as I caught a couple little trout on that setup, and a fisherman was born. Thanks Dad! My father had a way of making do with what he had with him in the outdoors. I remember we went hunting up the Bitteroot Valley south of town one time and Dad sent me running thru brush to flush pheasants! I was always double startled by the sudden closeby flight of the birds and the followup shotgun blast that whooshed well above my head (my Mom still got a bit angry when she heard years later that Dad had used me as a flushing dog). I remember him taking us fishing on the famous Rock Cr. tributary of the Clark Fork River. That's the first time I fell down in a river; just up stream of Dad who caught me dogpaddle-stumbling down to him. Snagged the cheap little rod too. After moving out to NW Oregon at 6 yrs. old, Dad soon started taking me and my brothers out on Illwaco charters to cross the Columbia bar for salmon fishing (starting at about 8 as I recall). The most memerable thing about those special saltwater trips weren't the hot coho bites we got into; but rather that Dad was always the first one to turn grey and be hurling over the side- several times before coming back in. He endured being badly seasick every summer for years because my brother's & I really loved crossing the bar to open sea for salmon! Thanks Dad. I'm sure he didn't mind bringing a load of salmon home each time too. After I got into river fishing, and eventually driftboating for salmon & steelhead, I finally got him back for allowing me to wade into a cold Montana stream at too young of an age. I anchored my driftboat in a good Nestucca R. drift, about 3' deep at anchor, in freezing weather for winter steelhead fishing. I had gotten out of the boat to wade down to fish the tailout. As I came back to the boat I climbed in on the shoreside as Dad was intently watching his drifting oakie. I thought he new I was getting in. Not. The boat dipped and he came falling across the shoreside gunnel and fell flat on the water, just completely soaking him. Not funny at the time, given the freezing temperatures. Fortunately, a local farmer took Dad in and dried his clothes in their dryer or we would have had to race to the takeout. That's the only time I've ever had someone fall out of any of my boats. But it wasn't the last time we went fishing together. That is still to come. Thanks Dad. - Steve