The last time I went fishing with Dad we drove down to Bath County and stayed at Nimrod Hall. We left after work and it was after seven o’clock when we got there and just twilight. We were anxious to get going, so as soon as we laid our bags in the room we put a canoe onto the Cowpasture River and started casting as we floated. We were catching bass and so we lost track of time and drifted for miles. It was late summer and the night was clear and you could see the Milky Way running down the middle of the sky, just like the river through those wide fields.
We had to make our way back in complete darkness. Dad still had his strength then and I remember us getting out of the canoe and dragging it – him pulling, me pushing – through a long shoal. We couldn’t see ten feet in front of us; that river rushing white water all around; not knowing if the next step might be a ten-foot hole. He wasn’t afraid of anything, and neither was I, when I was with him.