Happy Father's Day, Pop Pop

Pop Pop didn't become Pop Pop until the Mini-HHMM came along.  Before that he was Dad, or Pa, but mostly Dad.  My insatiable thirst for rivers, my unrelenting hunger for mountains and prairies, and the critters hidden within them... that came from Dad.  By the time I had attained memorable consciousness, my dad was an idealistic biologist, whose love for wide open spaces, productive rivers filled with fat trout, and a world of unstudied resources, endowed him with a whimsical curiosity and a contagious sense of purpose.  In his mind's eye, he could see the high deserts of the Snake River Plain still dotted with herds of bison, with a grizzled trapper covered in animal skins moving between them on his way to a rendezvous in Jackson Hole.  His imagination was powered by the magical country in which he ran, and by the history of those who ran the country before him.  That kinda thing rubs off on a kid.

When Dad went fishing, I wanted to go.  When Dad went bird hunting, I wanted to go.  I wanted to see the country that impassioned my father.  When I was small, I couldn't always tag along... you can't fish as hard or walk as many miles of railroad tracks chasing birds with a six year old slowing you down.  I certainly understand that now, and maybe I understood it pretty well back then too, but when I got to go fishing with Dad, that was a big deal.  I don't know if he did it on purpose or not, but he sure made me crave the opportunity to be outside, to float on the river and catch fish, to sit in a blind and hope to fool a duck.  Sometimes I feel like I can't remember the vast majority of what I learned in ten years of higher education.  I certainly can't remember how to prove a theorem in geometry.  The experiences I have shared with Dad in the magical landscapes of Idaho... those are etched, seared, tattooed, engraved in my most cherished memories.

So for Father's Day, I thought I would put together a timeline of the greatest hits of some of these memories.  The dates may be off by a little, but the experience is right at the heart.

~1985~ Dad puts me on my first fish, a mature, gravid, female Yellowstone cutthroat in the stream where he did his master's studies.  I broke his heart when I made him kill the fish so I could eat it, then didn't like how it tasted.

~1988~ Dad takes me on a camp-out under the cottonwood canopy of the South Fork Snake River.  We did a little fishing, but most importantly we shared a campfire together and he helped me make warrior sticks (my descriptor), which are nothing more than dead tree branches with a sharpened end.

~1990~ Dad takes me on a father-son camping trip to the Jarbidge River.  This is a remote corner of Idaho... really, it gives me my first taste of wilderness.  I find marmot skulls and catch rainbow trout at will, thus making this the coolest place I had ever been, bar none.

~1990~ Dad takes me, my cousin Robb, and my Uncle Bill on a float down the South Fork Boise River.  I enjoy my first true Idaho whitewater experience, Robb and I catch monster rainbows on Rooster Tails.  Dad is a demi-god for rowing Raspberry Rapid.

~1991~ Dad takes my Uncle Chris and me fishing on the St. Joe River.  Uncle Chris moons me.  I get skunked all day long until I throw my Panther Martin into "The Wonder Pool," the most picturesque fishing hole I have ever seen on a trout stream.  I catch what may have been my very first westslope cutthroat trout.  The St. Joe becomes "The Family River."

~1993~ One day before my 13th Birthday, on my first duck hunt, I harvest my first animal that doesn't have gills, a fat hen mallard.  Dad gives me the shotgun I killed the bird with as an early birthday present.

~1993~ As punishment for some wrong I committed against my mother, I am allowed to go duck hunting, but I am not allowed to take my shotgun with me.  This may have been the last time I was grounded.

~1994~ With no wetsuits or drysuits, Dad, Uncle Chris, and I run the Moyie River during spring runoff.  Dad nearly flips the raft at Eileen Dam, I witness the true power of river hydraulics for the first time, and Uncle Chris nearly floats out of the raft and down the river.  Dad saves the day with one final desperate stroke to keep the boat from flipping.

~1995~ Dad teaches me a lesson about hormones getting in the way of good judgement after he kills a sex-crazed tom turkey on a spring hunt.

~1996~ Dad hands me the keys to our Isuzu Trooper, Gus, for the first time.  In this vehicle I get my first taste of being an independent mountain man, though not so hairy yet.

~1997~ Dad and I share one of the most exciting moments of each of our lives when, after an hour or more of tracking, we recover my first elk after I made a poor, albeit ultimately fatal shot.  One day later, Dad kills his first elk and we learn together what it is like to make multiple five mile hikes with a load of meat on our backs.  I drink my first whisky in elk camp.

~1999~ I graduate high school.  Dad builds me a fly rod for my graduation gift.

~2001~ Dad, our hunting partner, and I each kill cow elk within 40 yards of each other, within half an hour of each other, on the last day of our elk hunt.  We learn what it is like to carry 2/3 of an elk in one trip.  Good thing my elk was a calf.

~2003~ Dad and my beautiful mother give me a canoe for my college graduation gift.  I have paddled that canoe with Chinook salmon in Idaho and with roosterfish in Mexico.

~2003~ For the first time, Dad takes me on his annual Male Bonding fishing trip in October.  This is a legendary trip full of larger than life participants.  This was a true right of passage into manhood.

~2004~ One day after I harvest a deer, I put my dad on the same spot and he harvests a fat whitetail doe.  This is the only time either of us has had whitetail deer hunting dialed in 19 years of hunting the damnable creatures.

~2005~ I move to Montana for graduate school, but Dad and I still kill elk together in Idaho.

~2006~ I meet the woman of my dreams and take her mule deer hunting.  We hike to the spot where Dad and I killed our first elk.

~2007~ Dad puts me on the last elk I killed (I know, it has been too long!) on the first morning of our hunting trip.  Emily (the woman of my dreams) and I harvest our first Montana mule deer on the first day of our hunting trip.  The first person I call is Dad.

~2008~ I marry the woman of my dreams on the banks of the river where I am doing my doctoral research... studying westslope cutthroat trout... Dad stands next to me as my best man.

~2010~ I determine that my skills as an angler surpass those of my father :)

~2010~ Dad kills his first Antelope with Emily and me in Montana.

~2011~ I move back to Idaho and Dad and I rediscover our love of waterfowl hunting together.  Dad becomes Pop Pop.

~2012~ I net Dad's first Steelhead on a fly rod.

~2013~ ...Hey Dad, we can't spend Father's Day together, but will you go fishing with me next weekend?  Are you pumped about hunting season yet?

Happy Father's Day, Pop Pop