Oh the bucket list, well lists really. There are hunting bucket lists, travel bucket lists, and of course the fishing bucket list. It evolves as time goes by, new things added, some things become less important, but really the number of items never seems to change much. As I take one off, another appears.
Son in law was telling the tale of a bush bashing trip to catch grayling awhile back, dozens of these unique little fish rising to his dry fly from a clear mountain stream. I mentioned these fish were near the top of that list, while looking through the pictures and enjoying the story. His suggestion we try it some time needed little thought. The miles of rough trail, then the bushwhacking, the long tree to tree, vertical hillside, then the 1/2 km over downed logs, did little to dampen my enthusiasm.
I taught my kids to dry fly fish almost 2 decades ago, well the little I knew about it, then spent my time in the years since on the still water. Once on the river it felt good to see my fly sitting on the top, dancing in the current. Like riding a bike, my casts were smooth, rolling out as they had 20 years earlier. And, just as before the bushes claimed a few flys on my back cast. I missed the first couple, lifting my rod tip a little to soon, but just as quickly as I rediscovered my roll cast, I found my timing and the little fish were bending my 3 weight again and again. We talked about our bucket lists on the trip home, and the 2 dozen or so grayling that helped remove it from the page.
