. . . thanks dad

(This story is told in behalf of Mark, the fly fisherman!) On a beautiful day, with fly pole and rio grande king in hand, Johnson Creek called.

He fished and expert fly fisherman that he is . . . . some 36 or so could not outsmart him!

While fishing up the creek through the brush, the willows and the trees. . .

hanging over the creek are wild raspberries!

With berries in hand

He looks to heaven and smiles . . .thanks dad!

. . .and now the rest of the story. When a young man Mark, Frank and Grandpa went fishing the wee Mammoth. One would start fishing while the other 2 walked up stream. Each would leave a "flag" on the bush where they started. As you fished up to the "flag" you would take it and walk on up the creek past the other two fishermen. This way you did not fish through an area which had already been fished. Mark and Frank kept passing each other, but they didn't see Grandpa. After awhile, they decided they'd better go back and see what happened to "dad." They walked for awhile and came around the bend. There sat Grandpa, a smile on his face, and eating wild raspberries!