The Boy I Always Wanted

     Many of you know that I have a passion for the sport of basketball. I've played it since I was old enough to know what a basketball was. I am a die hard fan of the Los Angeles Lakers as well as most NBA, college and high school games. Unfortunately for me I was and still am vertically challenged. In school I was always the runt of my class. Actually I was usually the runt of the school. Even my senior year when I stood mighty and proud at 5ft 3in tall and weighed in at a hefty 120 pounds. Luckily I was lightning quick and could outrun almost anyone and I had a great handle on the ball as well. Being short meant I didn't get many shots but I learned how to pass the ball from watching old video of Pistol Pete Maravich or watching my favorite Laker, Magic Johnson. I had a true feel for the game.

     When my wife and I had our third child I was so excited when I learned we were having a boy. I loved my two daughters dearly but there are dreams every father has playing sports with his son. I named my son after my grandpa and me, so we called him Trey because he was the third Horace Hallenberger.

     Ever since the womb, Trey has beat his own drum. Many times to music that nobody else can hear. He apparently did not like being upside down inside the tummy. He would always be in a sitting position with his head up. This was not a big deal early on but as he grew the doctors became concerned and decided to turn him over so he would be in position for birth. I remember the doc molding my wife's stomach and I could see the indentation from Trey's arms and legs. The doctor slowly manipulated him through the skin until he had flipped him over.

    A couple of days after that doctor's appointment my wife noticed that the baby was kicking very low in her belly. We decided to talk to the doctor about it again and set an appointment the following week. Sure enough, Trey had flipped himself back into the sitting position. The doctor told us that the baby was too big now to flip again and recommended that we come back in couple of days and do a c-section. He didn't want the risk of my wife giving birth to a baby who was breech.

    So Trey was born on April 25, 2000 via c-section and everything went according to plan. He was healthy and strong. The first thing I noticed as I held him for the first time was his hands. They were HUGE! Long fingers and wide palms. I began to have visions of my son's NBA greatness. I envisioned him playing like the Utah Jazz great point guard, John Stockton. (Though I pictured him playing for the Lakers).

    As Trey grew he was hilarious. Absolutely beside himself when it came to superheros and Disney characters. Woody and Buzz were at the top along with Shrek and the Incredibles. He was so fascinated with the characters that they consumed everything he did. He loved to draw. He never went anywhere with out his crayons and paper so he could draw all of his favorite characters. Even watching his favorite movies, he would be laying on his stomach with his pad of paper in front of him as he concentrated on his masterpieces.

    I tried to engage Trey in playing catch or dribbling a ball but he would lose interest very quickly. Especially if the ball happened to hit him on the head or shoulder or leg. He would immediately walk away. He was also the most noncompetitive boy I had ever seen. As soon as any playing became a competition he would just walk away and do something else. I remember him coming home from school and telling us that some boys had invited him to play football with them. Not knowing what football was he agreed and joined them. After seeing the first player get tackled, Trey had seen enough. I asked him why he stopped playing and he said "Why would I want to do that? Why would I want to get tackled? That's dumb!"

     When Trey was about 8 years old we thought it would be a good idea to expose him to sports so that he could get exercise and learn teamwork and the other great lessons that come from participating in sports. We signed him up for the local YMCA youth basketball league. Trey didn't really want to go but he decided it might be worth it because he had seen all the snacks that everyone got after his sister's games.

    So Trey became a basketball player......sort of. His first game was not good. When Trey was in the game he wandered around clueless as to the action going on around him. Nine kids would run from one end of the court to the other and somehow never ran over Trey in the middle of the floor. Trina and I chuckled as we watched. "It's only his first game" I thought to myself. "It's got to get better."

    I was wrong on so many levels. Every week was the same. Once during the game Trey walked off to the end of the court and got himself a drink from the drinking fountain. The only running Trey did was when he heard the final buzzer and he would run to the parent assigned the treats that week.

    Late into the season Trey was put into the game during a blowout. His team was actually pretty good even when he was in the game. The coach's son was one of the best in the league and could score easily against the competition of the YMCA league. During this particular game the coach's son had picked up his dribble and was trapped by the guy defending him and the guy who was supposed to be defending Trey but had no need to.

    Before I continue this story, I must first mention that Trey is what we like to call a "Mama's boy". And I mean in every sense of the word. He loves his mom even more than Buzz Lightyear and Woody. This unfortunately bleeds into everything he does including basketball.

     As the coach's son continued to struggle he glanced up and saw a wide open little boy near mid court. He started to pass the ball to the little boy and then the realization that the little boy was Trey stopped him. He glanced to the sideline and found his dad. His expression was the classic "Help me dad! What do I do?"

     The coach pointed to Trey. "Pass it to Trey!"

     The coach's son quickly obeyed and passed the ball to Trey. It went right to him. Trey fumble the pass and it bounced on the floor. Trey picked it up and began to run in what looked like a figure eight. All without dribbling the ball. The coach and I both yelled out at the same time, "Pass the ball, Trey!"  Trey stopped running, looked down the court towards his team's basket and then threw the ball. To nobody. It bounced a couple of times and one of the opposing players ran to it.

     Trey's reaction couldn't have been better scripted. It was as if he were Rudy winning the football game for Notre Dame. Trey's face was that of pure joy. He looked up and towards us. A big cheesy smile across his face. He spotted his mama and ran for the first time as a basketball player. As he approached his mom and I he asked "Did you see me? Did you see me with the ball? Did you see me make a pass?"

     Mom gave him a big hug and told him how proud she was of him. I smiled as best as I could. My dreams of a son playing for the Lakers was dwindling. I didn't know what to say to him except, "That's awesome, Trey, but you need to get back out there because the game is still going."  Trey turned and ran back into the game. People around us were no longer watching the game. They were laughing and telling us that was the cutest thing they had ever seen.

    So basketball was out. Let's try soccer. Trey joined a soccer team with his older sister Amaya. The results were similar. Amaya played her heart out. The team fought hard and was really good. Especially the brother and sister from Ecuador who could do amazing things with the soccer ball. Trey obviously liked the sister and using his mad flirting skills would let her know it. If he would only put that kind of effort into playing soccer!

     One game saw Trey's team playing a tough opponent. Back and forth the teams fought for scoring opportunities. As the teams ran to one end of the field, Trey stops at midfield and lays down on his back. The rest of the players continued to play. As the ball was stolen and the teams ran to the other side they passed Trey laying there. Amaya stopped and asked him "What are you doing, Trey? Get up!"

     Trey answered but didn't move. "I just got tired. I need to rest."  Amaya rolled her eyes at him and ran to help their team.

     As the season continued the team dominated the games. They were undefeated and virtually unchallenged. Everyone on the team had scored that season except for one. Trey. So they put together a game plan for one of the games. Trey would stay down near the opposing goalkeeper and the rest of the team would try to get the ball to him so he could kick in the goal. He got the ball a couple of times and kicked it out of bounds each time. Right before the end of the half the ball was again kicked right to him. Trey kicked the ball to his right and then reared his right leg back and kicked it as hard as he could. It went right past the goalie and into the net. I noticed the referee waving his arms that time had run out and that the goal did not count. Didn't matter. Trey was going to get credit from everyone else there. The whole team mobbed him and all of the parents cheered for him. Trey was beaming.

     Somehow that triggered something in Trey. He became the 4th or 5th best player on the team. The rest of the season he was playing defense and running and kicking goals and helping the team. I'm guessing it had less to do with the first made goal and more to do with the hug he had received from the pretty teammate from Ecuador!

     The next year, completely out of the blue, Trey told me he wanted to play baseball. This was an interesting development. Trey had never even played tee-ball. I told him it would be very hard because most of the boys had been playing baseball for years. He didn't seem to mind and said he really wanted to play. I told him I would take him to tryouts and we would see how he does.

    Tryouts were crazy. Hundreds of people there. Some were evaluating players, others were parents hoping their boys would do well and be chosen to play for a good team. Trey had his brand new mitt that looked like it was right off of the assembly line. He wore a hat that looked like my 1978 mesh John Deere tractor hat. His t-shirt and blue jeans completed the outfit and he looked like a misfit compared to the other boys.

     We got the information as to where Trey should go and they told us that there were three stations where they would evaluate him. The first station was hitting a ball thrown by one of the coaches. The second station was throwing the baseball. The third and final station was catching the baseball.

     We watched about a dozen boys get up the the plate and hit. They were thrown half a dozen pitches and then the were asked to run around the bases as fast as they could. When they called Trey's name he put on his batting helmet and walked to the plate. The coach explained the rules to him again and then threw the first pitch. Trey hit a hard line drive to center field. My eyes popped wide. "Where did that come from?" I asked myself. The second pitch came and Trey rocketed one down the third base line. The next on went all the way to the fences. Then another to center field and another just inside first base. My jaw was on the floor. I could see many of the scouts frantically looking for Trey's name in their charts and making notes.  On the last pitch the told Trey to run around the bases as fast as he could. This part did not go as well. Trey ripped the ball into the outfield and then began running to first base. He wasn't very fast and when he got to the base he stopped and started to take off his helmet. "Keep going!" the coaches yelled and pointed him to second base. Another coach waved him around second and another around third. It was not a very good time.

     They then sent him over to the next station. This did not go well either. Trey could barely throw the ball to the coach at that distance and he looked awkward doing it. At the catching station Trey would close his eyes and hope the ball would land in his mitt. Very few did.

     They told us they would let us know what league and team he would be on the following week. I told Trey I was surprised at how well he hit the ball. He just said confidently "I told you I could play baseball." Apparently he wasn't aware of how important running, throwing and catching were in the game of baseball.

     I received a call from the coach of the team who had drafted Trey. He said Trey was high on a lot of lists because of how well he could hit the ball. He told me that they weren't concerned about throwing and catching because they could teach him that easily. I asked what league they were in and he said AA. Not the best league but definitely not the worst either. Much higher than I would have pictured Trey playing in.

     Trey continued to hit the ball well during practices. He got better at throwing but still showed fear when someone thew the ball to him. He definitely would have a lot of work to do on his catching the ball. I was pretty excited that he was doing pretty well.

    The first game changed everything. Let's just say that Trey would go on to lead the league in one category that he would prefer not to.  It wasn't strikeouts. Trey led the entire league in "HBP" which stands for Hit By Pitch. Trey was a human backstop. He seemed to lack the instincts to get out of the way of the pitch. The ball would come and rather than jump out of the way he would look like he didn't even see it coming. The bruises were brutal. I worked with him often trying to get him to see the location of the pitch so he could know if it was going to hit him or not. The real problem became when he started to pull away from every single pitch. Including the ones in the strike zone. His fear had taken over his ability to swing the bat.

     About 3/4 way through the season I finally had Trey standing firm in the batters box. He was depressed and didn't want to play anymore. His teammates teased him because he couldn't hit the ball. I told him that getting hit hurts but it gives you a free walk to first base too. That only helped a little. I told him to remember what it felt like at tryouts when he hit every pitch thrown to him. I encouraged him that he could do it and he said he would try.

     He stepped into the batters box and the first pitch whizzed past him. Trey pulled back to avoid getting hit. "Strike one" the umpire hollered. Trey looked at me at first base and I gave him a thumbs up. "You can do this, Trey! You have to swing the bat to get a hit!"  He nodded and stepped in for the next pitch. Same result. Strike two. I called time out and walked up to home plate. I put my hands on Trey's shoulders and told him that I knew he could do it but he had to at least try. "Just swing the bat" I said. "I promise the ball will not hurt you." Trey nodded and I patted him on the back and went back to first base.

      On the third pitch I saw Trey close his eyes as he swung the bat. The familiar sound of the ball cracking off the bat was beautiful. It wasn't hit hard but it was hit. Trey dropped the bat and ran for first base. "Go, go, go!" I yelled and waved my arms for him to hurry. The ball had barely made it between the pitcher and the second baseman. The pitcher picked up the ball and hurled it towards the first baseman. The ball sailed high over his head. I told Trey to keep going to second base. Trey ran as fast as he could. The first baseman finally got the ball and threw it to the second baseman. The ball just missed hitting Trey as he was running and then went right through the second baseman's legs and into the outfield. The third base coach started yelling for Trey to run to third. As Trey headed to third I could see that he was quickly running out of steam. His run became a jog and then a very fatigued jog. The outfielders had not been paying close enough attention and by the time the got to the ball Trey was already being waved around third and heading to home plate. "Hurry Trey!!" all of us coaches and all of the team and all of the crowd yelled in unison.

     Trey's face was one of defeat. He looked like he was not going to make it all the way. Something kept him going and as he stepped on the plate we heard the sound of the baseball slamming into the catcher's mitt. "Safe" the umpire bellowed.

      Trey's team went ballistic. The crowd went crazy. I hugged Trey along with everyone else. I knew it wasn't the prettiest home run but it was a home run nonetheless. It was the only home run the team hit all year. And it was hit by my son, Trey.

      Like all of the other sports Trey lost interest after only the one year of playing. I know now that he is not destined to be the athlete that I had dreamed about. But I am not disappointed. I know he at least tried. I am glad that he can laugh at these stories too. For a kid with so little sports experience he sure has a lot of great experiences that bring smiles to everyone.

     Trey continues with his love of drawing. He has become quite talented at it. He wants to one day draw for Pixar. I think he just might.

     I love to watch my girls play basketball and that they have grown to love the sport. But I am also proud of my son who tried to play sports. I found out later that the main reason he tried was because he wanted me to be proud of him. I am proud that he tried. But I am more proud because he cares that much. My greatest success will be to see my kids find happiness. If, for Trey, that is drawing characters for Pixar or writing stories and movie scripts, then I will enjoy his craft as much as if he had led the Lakers to a championship. And that my friends is pretty darn happy!

Fishing In The Zone

Fishing has always been one of my favorite activities. It runs rampant in my family. My grandpa, dad, brothers, sisters, uncles and cousins all love or loved to fish. Some of my greatest memories since childhood have involved fishing.

Contrarily, I know a lot of people who don't care to fish because they get bored easily and their patience is limited. For me, I have never had a problem getting bored. I have always caught fish and I believe that is the determining factor as to whether a person enjoys fishing or not. If you aren't catching fish then you feel you are wasting your time. 

I don't think I would ever feel that way myself because part of the enjoyment is being in the outdoors and taking in the beauty that God has created in this world. A majestic mountain with evergreen trees mixed in with the many fall colors provided by the other trees and bushes. A smooth flowing river intermittently flowing over rocks and following an aged path towards the ocean. The many forms of wildlife living life without human distractions. The sounds of the water passing by or the wind gently blowing in the trees. The music of the chirping birds. The clear, clean mountain air easily breathed into your lungs. You literally see, hear, smell and feel the joy that God sent you to earth to have.

Sometimes I enjoy a peaceful excursion to a mountain lake by myself. I take my fly rod and float tube and experience the tranquility of the surroundings. After catching a few fish, I reel in the line and place the rod across the front of my tube. I pull my hat down over my eyes and drift on the water and in my mind. It is the most refreshing sleep I can ever enjoy.

I enjoy seeing the passion that others have for fishing as well. I see many who know the local Cabela's store like the back of their hands. They have all the gear to make the fishing easier and to give them an air of confidence through the outfits they wear. I must admit that they do look amazing. I get a little jealous and decide to invest in new wardrobe and gear myself. Then I see what it costs to look that good.  $60 for a fishing shirt, $80 for pants, $180 for breathable waders, $100 for a fishing vest, $300 for a fly rod, $200 for a reel, etc. And those were the sale prices! I weighed out the decision. What was I getting for my money? Was it worth $1000+ just to look good? Would it help me catch fish? My old stuff never seemed to hinder my ability to do that. I just couldn't do it.

I walked over to the clearance rack and purchased two shirts for $15 each and a pair of pants for $20. The shirts were a size to big but I figured I would eventually fill them out and the pants seemed to fit perfectly so I'm not sure why they were getting rid of them so cheap. 

The point is, I don't look like many of my friends who fish a lot. I have my dad's philosophy of, it doesn't matter what you look like or the fancy gear you have, it matters that you catch fish. So I take my low end Ugly Stik fly rod and my over sized fishing shirt and I head to the mountains. 

I recall one trip that justified our thinking the best way possible. 

It was around 1994 and we planned a little trip up to Lowman, Idaho in the Boise National Forest. We all enjoyed fishing in the South Fork of the Payette River. One of our favorite campgrounds was the Mountain View Campground about a mile east of the ranger station. This particular trip was the last real camping and fishing trip that I remember with my Grandpa Hallenberger. 

My wife and I met my grandparents at the campground. Also there to greet us was my Dad's sister Lela and her family. My Dad and his wife and many of my siblings showed up shortly after we arrived. Lela had brought up their large camp trailer and she and my Uncle Blaine shared it with my Grandparents. The rest of us spread out across the campground in tents. 

Aunt Lela

We had a great time together. We made s'mores at night and Dad played his guitar and we all sang along many of the songs we had known for years. We told stories and everyone laughed and had fun. Many of us stayed up and talked until well after 1:00am. I just love being around a campfire with family. 

During the days we spent time exploring, fishing and even enjoying a little dip at Kirkham Hot Springs a few miles up the road. Kirkham is a natural spring that is extremely hot in places but when it mixes with the river water it is cooled just enough to enjoy the heat and relax your muscles in. 

Kirkham Hot Springs

One day the family decided to take all the kids up to the hot springs and let them swim. My wife, Trina, decided to join them. Everyone ended up going except for me and my Grandpa. He wasn't feeling real well and decided to stay back and take it easy. He also wanted to get dinner started so it would be ready later. Grandpa made the world's best ham hock and beans! I was happy to stay back with him and figured I could get a little fishing done as well. Plus there was never better company than Grandpa. He was my hero and I loved every minute with him.

Grandpa

After everyone left I grabbed my fishing gear and began to string some new line onto my reel. Grandpa sat next to me near the fire and we talked about lots of things like baseball, fishing and of course family. I loved Grandpa's fishing stories. He was no only a great fisherman but also a wonderful story teller. When I finally got my reel and rod together and was ready to head to the river, Grandpa told me he was going to lay down for a few minutes in the trailer. I told him I would check in on him in about a half hour and I headed down to the banks near camp. 

I rounded up a few grasshoppers and placed them into a small Styrofoam container and then found what looked like might be a good spot to fish. I surveyed the river back and forth and found a deep hole created by a large rock in front of it. I saw a couple of fish swimming and decided it was perfect. I took out one of the grasshoppers and placed it on the hook. I placed a single small sinker about 36 inches above the grasshopper. I placed the line over my finger and lifted the bail over the spindle. I slowly drew the rod back and then flicked it forward releasing the line with my finger at the precise time so that the grasshopper would land just above the hole. The grasshopper slowly dropped over the large rock and into the hole. Right as it got into the hole a flash of silver flickered just beneath the water. The line went tight and the pole responded with a tug. I gave the rod a firm lift and set the hook. The fish was on. I let it play the line a little and then slowly reeled him in. I reached down with my net and swooped it up into the air. It was a nice little rainbow about 11 inches long. I removed the hook carefully and then set the fish back into the river and watched it swim back to the hole.

I repeated the process and recast my line. This time nothing happened. The grasshopper eventually floated right through the hole and down the river. I tried about 5 or 6 more times. That's weird, I thought to myself. Are these fish that intelligent to know what happened the first time? Usually when a fish attacks a type of bait so quickly it is a good sign that that is the best bait to use. But these fish were not biting anymore.

I decided to try something else. I pulled out my little container of night crawlers as well as the jar of Balls O' Fire salmon eggs. I broke one of the large worms in half and threaded it onto the hook the way my Grandpa had shown me many years before. Then on the end of the hook just over the barb I placed a salmon egg. I removed the sinker from above the hook as now the weight of the worm was sufficient for my needs. I then cast the line and watched as the worm crossed over the rock. Within seconds I felt the tugging of the rod and I had hooked another fish. I reeled it in and it was similar to the first fish but maybe an inch shorter.  Again I released it back to the river. 

The worm was still intact on the hook but the salmon egg had fallen off. I placed another one in it's place and then cast again. Almost identical to the previous attempt and almost an identical result. This time the fish was a little larger, maybe 12 inches. This went on for about 15 minutes. Fish after fish after fish. I got a little thirsty so I left my gear at the bank and went up to camp and got a Mountain Dew from the cooler. I drank a little and walked over to the trailer to check on Grandpa. Right as I knocked on the door he appeared from the around the front of the trailer. He said he was feeling a little better and decided to clean out his tackle box. I told him how great the fishing was and he told me he had experienced that many times throughout his life. I smiled and asked if he needed anything. He said no he had everything he needed so I headed back to the river. On my way I caught the aroma of the beans drifting through the campground. My mouth watered as I thought of dinner that night. 

I picked up my pole and made sure the worm and egg were still good to go. "Let's try it again" I said out loud to myself. I cast the line and voila, fish on! Right then I heard the family coming back. My cousins Tory, Sid and Jason all came right down to the river along with my little brother John and my sisters Heidi and Rebecca. I told them about all of the success I was having. We decided to start keeping some of the fish so we could have them with the beans that night. Tory, Sid and Jason all ran up to get their fishing poles. I stayed back and continued to catch fish. I let John, Heidi and Rebecca bring a few in as well. When my cousins returned I told them what to put on their lines.  

Just then a couple of guys showed up on the opposite side of the river. They saw me pulling out fish after fish and decided to check it out. I normally don't like to share my success secrets but I thought it would be OK and I also thought it was pretty cool that these particular guys had asked. They were decked out in all the finest gear and I could tell that their rods were exquisite. "What are you using?" one of them asked. I replied honestly and they looked at me funny. "Seriously?" they asked. I nodded and they seemed to accept it. They quickly took out their worms and salmon eggs and rigged their hooks as I had recommended. 

Tory and Sid

So now my little fishing hole was filled with lines. Mine was now accompanied by my 3 cousins' and the two strangers who looked like professional fisherman. I felt the tug on my pole and handed it over to Heidi. She struggled to reel it in but finally did. I cast again. This time I handed the pole to Rebecca and I helped her reel another in. I cast again and caught another, then another, then another. Tory and Sid thought it was pretty funny that I was the only one catching fish. The pros and Jason however were not amused. I let Jason reel a couple in so he wouldn't be upset. The pros kept trying and even changed up their bait but they ended up leaving without catching so much as a bite.

After bringing in about a dozen fish I decided to mix it up a bit. I took about 5 feet of line and tied it up above my existing line. I tied a fly to the end of it. I checked my other hook and saw that the worm and egg were still usable. I cast the line again and watched the worm plop right into the hole. The fly landed just beyond it and floated on the top of the water. The familiar tug on the pole and I had another 12 inch fish on. I began to reel it in. About 1/3 the way in I was startled as my pole suddenly doubled over and almost came out of my hands. I gathered myself and began to fight the line. Just then a huge fish jumped out of the water thrashing it's body around and slapping itself on the surface as reentered the water. My family started screaming and my heart leaped in my chest with excitement. I let the fish have a little line and tried to keep just enough pressure so that the hook wouldn't come out of it's mouth. It jumped a couple more times and tried to go downriver. I walked along the bank struggling to keep the line from breaking. Finally after a valiant fight the fish tired out and I was able to bring him to shore. I tried to net it but it was too big. I put my fingers under the gills and removed the hook. I lifted up the fish and then noticed a flash of white on the ground. Laying there with a hook still in it's mouth was an 11 inch fish. That was the first fish to hit my line. 

The fish in my hand was 25 inches long and was fat. I was so excited. My family had gathered around to see the monster. It sure looked like a rainbow trout but I had never seen one that large in that river. I figured I better make sure. I knew that there were salmon in that river but that it was illegal to catch them. I took the fish and ran back to camp looking for my Grandpa. When I finally found him I showed him the fish and begged him excitedly, "Please tell me this is a rainbow!"

Grandpa took the fish and examined it. "Wow" he said. "I haven't seen a fish this big in the Payette River since back in the 60's." 

"Yeah, yeah Grandpa, but is it legal?" I responded. 

"Oh yes," he said. "This is actually a native rainbow rather than the rainbows they plant here."

"Yessss!! I exclaimed. "Thanks Grandpa!!

I went back to the river and grabbed the rest of the fish and cleaned them all out in the river. I then placed them all in foil and into the cooler filled with ice. We would cook them up later to go with Grandpa's beans!

Everyone was talking about my fish. They were all laughing at how the professionals had come down and couldn't even get a bite in the same hole that I was catching fish on every cast in. I suppose I was in the zone and it was awesome. A couple of hours later and the Fish & Game Ranger stopped by. He said he had heard about a large fish caught in the area and he wanted to check it out. I was a little nervous and hoped that my Grandpa had known what he was talking about when he identified the fish for me. I took the Ranger over to the cooler and opened it up. The fish was bent upwards on the ends because it didn't fit the cooler.

The Ranger looked closely and shook his head. I got butterflies in my stomach. Then he turned to me and said that it was a beautiful fish. It was the largest one he had seen in over 15 years working as a Ranger in the area. He congratulated me and shook my hand and then told us all to have a good day. The family began to pat me on the back again and I was so happy. 

It was a great trip. My wife, my family, my Grandpa and a giant fish. Life was good!