940 Saturdays

There is a river in Idaho's panhandle where I first cast a fly, It seems like a lifetime ago and I suppose in many ways it was. Over the years my son Mat has often mentioned going up to the St Joe and fishing the very run where the 10 year old me first cut his teeth and became enchanted by the art of standing in a stream waving a stick. Time passes, closer rivers, the allure of chrome brite steelhead, finances.. all stood in as reasons to not go. Many times we fished close, bear hunted along it.. or simply disscussed it, made plans..and watched them fall apart. In May Mat turned 18, ending his career as my little boy.. follower.. he cut his own trail to the Joe and tangled with its famed Cutthroat, and won. He text messaged me some photos.. and my heart jumped with exitement, then sunk with saddness,of all the fishing days ive missed in my life, Ive never regreted missing missing one more than yesterday, I let 940 saturdays vanish to poor excuses, Someday I will take his son there.. if he has a son... I won't make the same mistake twice- Good Job Mat ( there are no photos of fish, it was near 90 degrees and he released them as quickly as possible )