The guests filtered in and Mike and his dad sat together at the opposite end of the table. To Mike's right was a couple from Ashland who were just passing through to Crater Lake and across the table, a foursome from Driggs Idaho who came in their camper to see what all the fuss was about, steelhead and all.
The mood in the room was upbeat and alive until the owner, at the head of the table, gestured that he was about to speak. And he did and the room went quiet.
"Did anyone catch a steelhead today?"
Mike looked up from his rather fancy dinner, and quietly raised his hand. His father smiled and gave him a small shoulder bump.
"Congratulations, tell us about it."
Mike, who led a platoon in Iraq and was a graduate of the Academy at West Point, dreaded this sort of question. He was brought up to believe that, to lead is to lift up the accomplishments of others and not talk up your own. So it made sense that his response was, “Sir, I caught three fish today. One, a buck in the Kitchen Hole and Dan the dog almost drove me off the ledge. The second was downstream east of Idleyld, a hen I think and honestly… it’s been a long couple of months… I can't remember where the last one was caught. But I can tell you that I would not have caught a damn thing, if it were not for Chick. He put me onto where I needed to be."
The old man at the head of the table smiled and cocked his head to see Mike more clearly over the top of his glasses. "Mike, I've known you since you were 13 years old," giving Stan Dixon a nod. "And that is a line that you have used many times. Your friend Chick is a helluva guide but give yourself some credit, boy. That is some accomplishment. Three fish on the North Umpqua. Congratulations.”