West Fork of the Bitterroot River: the fishing

As I try to come up with words to describe our vacation in Montana, images, not words, come first to mind. Some of the images are as follows: Sava, in his oversized waders, standing somewhere in cold water, casting again and again and again; Raya reading while Sava is casting; Bob loading up the raft to take three of us and the best dog in the world down the river; hiking uphill to two alpine lakes in very hot weather (and witnessing a search & rescue mission during one of the hikes); walking through bear grass for the first time in our lives; waking up to the sound of rushing water (more of a sound than an image); visiting the small library in Darby in order to tie flies and read; and finding mouse droppings around the second cabin, on which later (or maybe not).
I have many photos that to a stranger might all look the same but to the discerning eye of a parent watching her son fall in love for the first time all represent stages in the process. Sava started to learn to cast two years ago (or maybe five?), but he didn't start fishing until this year; at least not for real. He loves everything about fly-fishing, from tying the flies, reading about casting, practicing his cast, wading in cold water, catching the fish, and maybe even taking a beautiful trout off the end of his line (still working on the latter; he doesn't like the "sliminess"). He has the persistence required to cast his line hundreds of times before a fish bites, and he appears to have the inner drive to be out by himself, in the midst of a rushing river, thinking his thoughts and communing with the outdoors.
If I could have one wish for each of my children fulfilled right now and unto the rest of time, it would be that each of them find something to do that gives them unfettered access to inner peace and calm. Fly-fishing may or may not be that thing for Sava, but it is a joy to watch him exploring it regardless. So without further ado, here are many photos of the same thing, again and again and again.
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Sava and Bob watching the water to see if fish are "rising" when we had just arrived at our first cabin:

Sava casting his line at various points along the West Fork of the Bitterroot River, sometimes in front of one of the cabins and sometimes in a special spot that an older angler we gave a ride to showed us; that same angler fishes three or four times a week and does it by parking his car downstream, hitch-hiking upstream with his small raft, and then floating for a few hours; he has done it for forty years.

in front of the Tailwater cabin; Rado had to ferry him to the other side of the river in an inner tube

as the days wore on, he got better and better at not tangling his line on the bushes behind

And more: 

these waders will serve him well for at least another couple of years

that was his very favorite spot, where he caught a couple of fish on the last night

sister was always there with him, usually reading

although resistant to being "taught," he learned to defer to Bob's experience and wisdom (fishing wisdom, that is; the jury is still out about the rest, Bob)

in sync

according to Bob, his cast getter better and longer with each passing day

the focus

the tongue in cheek that signals the focus

a fish on the line! he's trying to get it out without actually touching it, which is impossible

Gatsby wants that fish

Gatsby still wants that fish

yes, watching him waist deep in the midst of a river made us a teeny bitty nervous

Sava casting more, especially in the late evenings: 

here he actually went under for a second, as he slipped on a mossy rock; his waders filled with water

perfect familial harmony

bliss

this angler, with a WA license plate, came down from the spot he was fishing upstream in order to offer Sava a fly that he thought worked well in the evening--

Sava catching the most fish during floats down the river in Bob's (Tim's) raft; we have more videos of that than photos: 

passing the Tailwater cabin, where Raya and I are watching from the deck

the cabin sits at the confluence of Boulder Creek and the West Fork of the Bitterroot

this is the launching pad of our second cabin, the Whimsical Cottage on the River

a catch! note that Bob is the one taking it off the line

One particularly exciting catch, on the last night we fished with Bob:

and that is actually another catch

And the last night, much of it spent in bittersweet pleasure over the heft of his catches and the imminence of our departure.

And so this is how fishing looked during the two weeks on the West Fork of the Bitterroot River, which might as well have been called Heaven, as far as Sava was concerned. Now that we are back, he spends a good deal of time reading the Fly Fisherman, to which Bob subscribed him, and he is already making plans about next year. We have also been tasked with figuring out where in California he can fly-fish. 

It makes me happy to look at these photographs, mainly because I love seeing my son doing something he genuinely loves. I'm willing to drive the 3,000 miles there and back as many times as necessary.