18 April 2013

Fishing Hope, Victor, Montana

My two oldest nephews visited every summer of their growing up years, always with unflagging hope to acquire a grand fishing story. They were out in the daylight as early & late as allowed, tromping miles of river and stream bank paths - and often un-paths. Sporting scratched shins, multiple mosquito bites, and irrepressible grins, they’d arrive home to tell their tales over dinner, then crash hard for a solid night’s sleep - waking ready to continue the quest for a perfect fishing hole.

1 comment:

  1. waoo


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