My name is SRB, it’s September 21st 2003 and I’m 3.75 years old. I’m sitting in the sand next to the Lamar River in Yellowstone National Park. Our car is on a road about a mile away. My parents let me walk part of the way but when I was too slow they put me in the carrier and hoisted me onto their back. You see my dad is really excited to fish, he and my mom take turns fishing while the other one watches me. My dad is worried that I will either be swept away in the river or become a tasty snack for some roving carnivore. If the truth be told, I like being carried because there are lot’s of large wild animals around that I would later learn were
Elk and Bison. My parents are doing their best despite the fact they’re worried about me. Nine months ago I was diagnosed with something that makes me see the world very differently than most people do. At the time I tried my best to tell them that everything was going to be O’K but they couldn’t read my writing. They did carry on however ( literally speaking ) and went ahead living their lives and took me along for the ride. Fast forward nine years later and I’m much more of an active participant. My parents tell me I’ve been to the Rocky Mountain West around 12 times. Some of the adventures I remember, some I don’t. In that time I’ve learned to fish,climb,camp,ski, and mountain bike. My dad tells me that fly fishing lies in my future.