The end of the final week was extra special. Jordan and her fiancé, Bob, drove from Montana to join me, chase elk, relax, fish, and in Jordan’s case spend some quality time with Dad. It had been quite a spell since she and I had had spent extended time together. We went on several great hunts replete with bugling bulls, flashes of elk amongst the timber and hastily devised and revised strategies as field conditions unfolded. One evening six cows and a grand six point bull were angling their way up a high meadow through dense timber to the head of Rabbit Creek Pond. We were in a perfect position. Then the elk Gods frowned, the cursed wind shifted at exactly the wrong moment, and at exactly the wrong directional angle, the alarm barks of the cows echoed over the hillsides and bull and cows went pounding in retreat over the opposite ridge. No shot, but a spectacular scene in the setting sun and a great evening hunt. We knew, except for the quirk of fate that had shifted the breeze for those few precious seconds that we had won the game of chess. Many times, to a true hunter, that is enough.

We spent the days laughing and exploring. I showed them corners of the ranch and some of the new ponds Jordan had not yet seen. 

The kids had first brandished fly rods when they were about four years old. Both are excellent fly fishermen (fly fisher persons?). Rhett has continued to pursue the sport avidly, but Jordan not so much in the past few years as two jobs and a host of other activities have consumed her time. It was with wonder then that I watched her pick up the nine foot Sage and without hesitation or thought unfurl sixty feet of line, double hauls and all, in perfect loops over the ponds. She has a casting technique most males who have been fishing for decades would be envious of. And she catches fish too! A couple of afternoons were spent sneaking around the dense willow stands along the creek, which my back finally felt good enough to do. A stiff breeze, close quarters, intriguing red of autumn willows, and a tiny stream as a target made casting very technical. This added to the fun. The creek was alive with willing fish, some Rainbows, but mostly Brookies absolutely brilliant in their fall spawning colors.

Bob and Jordan departed north and I knew with a tinge of sadness that I would be following them in just a day or two. That final evening the western sky radiated a crimson farewell.

Photos by Reid L Rosenthal Copyright 2008