from a weekend on the grimy strip.
After a couple quick and effortless casts, he turns back to me and says “got it?”
“Shit” He was giving me instructions that entire time but I was zoning out and didn’t hear a word he was said. I nod as if I were watching intently.
He thrust the rod into my hands. The long rod feels cumbersome and awkward, but I pretend that it feels natural. Jim reaches out and readjusts my hands. “Relax” he says, “like you are holding a tube of tooth paste but don’t want any to come out.” I loosen my death grip and pause, holding the rod steady. I start my cast, attempting to sling the line around in the intricate loops Jim had just displayed, but instead I swing the rod tip with more vigor and enthusiasm than necessary. The cast had seemed so simple. I had pictured a flowing ribbon of line flowing towards the far shore, falling gently onto the water. Instead, the line slaps to the water in a tangle before me. Jim puts his hand on my shoulder, gives me a knowing nod, and walks away. “Keep practicing boss,” he shouts over his shoulder.
I continue practicing my casts while Jim backs the boat & trailer to the rivers edge. Henry sits patiently in Jim’s Clackacraft, his fingers idly wrapped around the oars. Jim calls me over to help push the boat into the river. Rowing a drift boat is a bit new to both Jim and Henry; although a season of trips on Idaho’s Clearwater have helped Jim hone his skills. Henry doesn’t have the experience Jim has, but he is eager to learn, even through failure. Henry’s determination has him at the oars every moment Jim has the courage to let him.