The wooden drift boat gracefully knifed through the small waves of the morning’s first rapid and headed on down into a shaded pool below. Bob, the guide, began to pull on the oars a bit harder and worked the boat to the left at the bottom of the rapid.

“Okay, Jo Ann,” he said softly, this is where we’ll start. Just stand up, brace yourself, and cast it out there like you practiced back in camp.”

I did as he said. “Okay, wish me luck!” I pulled out some line and let it fall on the drift boat’s “fly deck” then as smoothly as I could, waved the rod backwards a bit then forwards a bit. The line more or less went forward about 15 feet and the fly hit the rock wall about a foot up from the water then fell onto the surface.

“Perfect,” whispered Bob. “Now just follow it and watch it.” I stared at the tiny bit of lazily floating fluff. After a moment or two a curious hint of motion and shadow a bit away from it caught my eye. I glanced over, saw nothing, and looked back at my fly. It was gone!

Our family has a New Year’s tradition. We get together and pool ideas for our family summer vacation. Our 14-year-old daughter Tricia, a digital photo whiz, wants to get some great shots.  Jeremy, at age 11, is in his Indiana Jones period: he wants to explore and learn the use of an inflatable kayak. Larry perennially wants fly fishing while I crave birds, wildlife and some excitement paddling a raft; and, who knows, perhaps I would even try my hand at fly-fishing.

And we all wanted a vacation with a bit of adventure and fun active things to do. It was my year to choose and as I was gathering ideas and information, a newsletter article caught my eye. It was about a guy’s fantastic fly-fishing trip down Idaho’s Middle Fork of the Salmon River. It was a six-day trip covering 100 miles of beautiful sounding river, home to a wide array of birds and animals. (he even heard a wolf howl).

My fly had been there one second and was gone the next. What had happened? I began to turn around and ask Bob, but I never got that far. The answer became apparent as the rod and line both magically came to life in my hands. They jumped and tugged and pulled at my hands, and I began to laugh. It just came out. It was a laugh of pure wonderment, the type I had when I was a kid. “You got one,” whooped Bob, “you got one! And on your very first cast. Wait till they hear about this. Middle Fork magic, Man, oh, man!”

That night after another great dinner and campfire socializing, our family foursome had its own little gathering, private except for a million or so stars looking on. Each of us was having a fantastic vacation that was beyond our expectations. We had all gotten what we wanted and more. We had rafted together, hiked together, laughed together, and for these few glorious days, had simply lived together in a way that we could hold on to and cherish forever.

“Hey everybody! Do you know what?” asked Larry. He went on without pausing for an answer. “I looked at my calendar a few minutes ago, and guess what. . . .today is January 1^st, New Year’s Day!”

“Dad,” exclaimed both kids, “what are you talking about? It’s August!”

“Not by my calendar. Today is the first of the year, and we always choose our vacation on the first. And this year I get to choose. Any suggestions, family?”

Get ready, Middle Fork of the Salmon, ‘cause we’re coming back!