death of a fishing pole, or two...or three

The day started out promising, if not a little hot and unseasonably dry. We gathered what remained of our gear and trekked upstream to teach the boys some of the finer things of life, with Granpda leading the way.

Hiking through the (parched) back meadow at Flag Mountain camp site

Grandpa F, Josh, Lander, Jake

The walk included climbing over, around and even under deadfall trees and other debris.

Nature could try to stop us, but we wouldn't let it get in our way.

Josh and Lander hike across a fallen aspen tree

We even stopped for a few silly photo ops. We couldn't help ourselves. 

It's hard to be unhappy in God's country.

But, then we trudged on. Enjoying the scenery and marveling at all of the bear scat, moose droppings, and elk droppings. There must have been a serious wildlife party going on in that meadow because the poop was ev-ery-where. As a result, we didn't let Josh get much farther away from us than this:

 Finally, we made it. 

Jake and Dixie stopped for a little self portrait while we still liked each other.

Let the fishing begin! 

Grandpa F shows us how fishing is supposed to be done

 Lander catches on quickly after a few lessons from Grandpa. 

Jake? Not so much. It probably has a lot to do with the "I know what to do" problem seen in a lot of pre-teenagers. Coincidentally, this is the last "happy" picture we had.

A few moments later, in this very spot,  Jake snapped his fishing pole in half in a wild attempt at casting. The tip and most of the pole floated downstream, never to be seen again.

Pine River - 2

Jamisons - 0

It wouldn't have been so bad, but he then repeated the performance a second time just minutes later.

Pine River - 3

Jamisons - 0

Mom was mad. Jake was crying. The fish swam merrily by. And with that we called it a day. Fishing suddenly became a bit too expensive for our tastes.