My grandson, Brian, spent the last two years on a church mission in Oaxaca, Mexico, and Everett, Washington. This seriously cramped his passion for fishing in Idaho. He made up for it by chasing trout all summer with his cousin, Corbin. They have been in nearly every stream from Island Park to Aberdeen. When he got to BYU, one of his first assignments was to write a personal narrative. Oh, surprise! His paper was on fishing in Idaho. He asked me to go over it a little and I thought I would put his fishing story in UPSTREAM IDAHO. Being a proud grandfather, I knew how much you would appreciate it if I included his picture. “As we finally reached the top of the canyon wall, I took one last look over my shoulder at the river below. From our new, elevated point of view, it looked more like a blue ribbon than a river. The hike out was exhausting and left me and my cousin, Corbin, with little energy. When we arrived at the truck, we were sweating, tired, and looking forward to AC blasting and the windows down on the drive home. We believed that we had reached the finish line. It was then, to our disappointed surprise, we found that the battery was completely dead. A dead battery normally wouldn’t be a problem in a Walmart parking lot where other cars and jumper cables abound, however, we were in a particularly remote area near the Teton River outside of Driggs, ID. We were stuck. We were alone; and not only that, we had made an appointment to be back home in Idaho Falls before we knew all of this would transpire. The reason for our trip was to fly fish some of the best water around. Even with all the hobbies that I have acquired over the years, fly fishing has remained my favorite. There is just something about the feeling of having a fish at the end of my line that keeps me coming back time after time. For the fish, it is catch and release. As for me, I guess that I am the one who is really hooked. Our scheduled appointment was of the best nature: a dinner appointment. We were to arrive home in time for an afternoon barbeque with our wonderful neighbors. My mother had scheduled this, and it was a true conflict of interest. However, it was my last week at home before college. This meant it was my last time out fishing before surrendering my life to all the homework and textbook reading associated with school. My cousin and I had been looking forward to an excursion to this specific spot for weeks. However, after the event was brought to our attention, my mother was insistent that I be present. After some discussion, we came to the agreement that I could go fishing that morning, but that I would be home in time to clean up and attend the get-together that evening. We planned everything almost to the minute, leaving little margin for error. When the dead battery was discovered, the truck was not the only thing in trouble. As we sat by the lifeless pickup, all I had to calm my thoughts and physical state was a burning hot water bottle that had been left in the direct sunlight. It nearly burnt my lips as I took a sip. I knew that we were in no immediate danger, but we were far away from any signs of human activity. Several miles of trees and farm fields separated us from the sparsely traveled highway we used to get there. My thoughts turned to the legendary evening fishing we could be doing, had we known that we were not going to be able to start the truck. Opportunities for fishing like this don’t come to a college kid every day. Then the words of my mother entered my mind, not the words I was expecting when I got home, but how she would tell us, “Everything always works out in the end. And if it doesn’t, it’s not the end yet.” I have never told her that this is a double negative because somehow it has always made a lot of sense to me. This time, however, I wondered how such a statement could be true. Just as we began to assess our options that didn’t involve a long walk down a remote road, we heard a familiar sound. It was a low, dull rumbling that grew louder and louder as it got closer. Our hearts were relieved as we saw roof racks and a windshield come over the horizon. On top of everything else, that car was the first and only one to come down that old, dusty road to the dead-end parking since we had arrived there early that morning. We flagged down the young couple inside and they were more than willing to let us use their blue Toyota for a jump start. It truly was a divinely delivered tender mercy with unflawed timing. Once the battery was charged, we were on our way home only slightly later than we had planned to be. That experience helped fill my piggy bank of faith realizing that our prayers had been answered. Occasionally, it seems as though no matter how well we plan, things simply get out of our control--things that don’t work out until they do, the kind of things I’d do all over again.” Now that his fishing story has been published in a major newspaper, I hope Brian will remember the little people in his life who knew him before he became famous.
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