After his father’s suicide, a son seeks solace in the streams.
When my father returned from World War II, he started fishing again.
It took a year to recover from a battle wound, but old black-and-white family photos show him back alongside the waters again, fishing rod in hand. My father would take me on many of these trips, and I caught my first fish, a brown trout, with a little help from him, from a wild place called Bear Swamp Creek in upstate New York in 1949. I was 4 years old.
LINK (via: High Country News)