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Fishing with John

     I had never gone fly-fishing, and hadn't seen my uncle John in eight years. However on this day I was to do both.

     The Snake River, located on the Oregon-Washington border, created a wordless understanding between John and I, we communicated not in the traditional fashion, but through the earth. In one day my perception of nature and natural beauty changed from indifference to deep appreciation.

     We had grown out of touch with my mother's brother, we being the Olmanson family, he moved to Oregon for personal reasons. At the time I was too young to know what personal reasons meant, except that you didn't ask.

     Years later a correspondence began between myself and his daughter Jo. This eventually led me to Oregon.

     The north west is hills in front of mountains, rivers winding and cutting through both, and birds flying above it all.

     Few words were spoken the night I arrived, it was late and I felt awkward, seven years of silence made conversation difficult. But John kept up a decent barrage of questions as we drove up into the foothills of some unknown mountain range.

to be continued...

        Justin Olmanson

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