washinton

When you picture father and son fishing trips in a metal row boat, you might picture a pristine lake with a bobber and worms, goofy hats with oversized boots and dozing off in the warm sun. For my dad and I, we picture something different entirely. Basalt boulders the size of Volkswagens, yesterday clearly exposed, are now lurking millimeters beneath the surface. On days like this, there’s about a 5% margin for navigation error as you’re flying through white water, oars digging hard, unable to change trajectory more than a few crucial inches. It sounds reckless (maybe it is), but the payoff is worth every risk.

Read more