New traditions...

Establishing new traditions with my parents has been on my mind in the past couple years. After all of the family tragedy in 2006, it feels natural to connect in more personal ways, aside from the occasional weekend visit or holiday event.

With my mom, it's sharing sports....specifically, the newly redeemed Portland Trailblazers. While I was under her roof, she lamented the fact that I was much like my Dad....I had little enthusiasm for sports (perhaps it was because no NW teams were doing anything). It wasn't until college that started to enjoy watching college football or pro basketball. Flash forward to now. Last season, we attended six Blazer games - and had a ball. I occasionally took her to a favorite restaurant - Nicola's Lebanese eventually became the standardbearer - and then hustled out to the Rose Garden. We were hooked - and really enjoying the sharing the time together.

This year, were doing it again - and we're going to drag Greer to at least one game. A Utah preseason matchup - in celebration of him completing our library's summer reading program.

For my Dad, it looks like fishing or crabbing together is starting up. Last year, it was an ocean salmon fishing trip out of Iwaco, WA. This year, we found ourselves fishing a small lake in central oregon (where Greer landed his first trout) - and then again, on the Deshutes River - thanks to a local fishing trip auction my Mom had won.

The day dawned in perfect fashion. Clear and a little cold at 5am for the trip to where the Deshutes River joins the Columbia. Our old friend Glen Summers met us on the boat launch and got everything squared away in a hurry. As we cruised down the tail of the Deshutes, Glen began to roll out the stories of fishing trips past. He's been working as a river guide for years - and reminds me of Quint in Jaws. A weathered salt and his boat for hire. Under the steady howl of the engine, he and my dad began what would be almost an entire morning of fish, elk and deer stories - each one a little more unique than the last.

Getting out on the water at dawn has a natural magic. On the Columbia you become aware of another world waking up. The fish are breeching the water in all directions. A fat chinook rolls and flips his tail near the bow. A six-foot sturgeon launches itself 30 feet behind us. Everywhere there is movement that you'll never notice if you whiz by on I-84. You have to be out there to see what you're missing.

All the action came before 10am. As we ran a circular pattern from the mouth of the river, we ran into a bunch of biting fish. Dad hit the jackpot early with a 32-pound Chinook and a nice steelhead, while I landed two good-size steelhead - one of which we could keep.

All in all, a good time for us both. Since Glen provided good conversation, we were able to avoid the occasional uncomfortable silence that drapes itself on our one-on-one time. That....and being out on a boat again with Dad is a great thing. I have many great memories (mostly crabbing) of us working the water. Hopefully, this will be the beginning of something we can look forward to again.