My Brother and I had stopped for lunch when this picture was taken last year by our father. We are a family of fly fishermen. The Pizza box and water bottles were cleaned up, we dont litter. The Upper Willowemoc was the site of this picture. It has a spirit and vibe all its own. Later that day I broke my rod climbing down a bank to target some native brook trout. More surprising to my father than the clean snap of my rod was my reaction. Have you ever gone blank with rage? I howled at the heavens while throw both pieces at the stream. Of course I retrieved them down stream about 30 seconds and 70 yards later. Breaking a rod is a painful experience. Sorry their are no pictures but I was not in a picture taking mood.
Years prior I was carrying my youngest son when I tripped on a tree root. I was heading down hands first with my 3 year old in one hand and my Cortland in the other. I dropped the rod and held tight to my son. The hand that braced our fall also split that rod in two. His mother has never questioned my love for him since.
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