I found myself in a strange situation on the banks of the Spring River. I had a spinning rod in one hand and my other arm around Missy's waist. A three pound rainbow trout was surging at the end of the line on the spinning rod in an attempt to pull Missy off of the river bank. Her small hands were clutching the spinning rod in a death grip to keep the trout from ripping it from her grasp. Seconds before I had very quickly sized up the situation and realized that either the fish was going to pull the rod out of the forty pound, six year old little girl's hands or the fish was going to pull her off the steep bank and into the cold river. I made a mad dash and grabbed the rod and the child. I did not want to land the fish myself because it was Missy's fish and she is an independent little angler that knows the difference but I didn't know what to do from here. Another fisherman was walking down the trail neaby and realized what was happening so he graciously came to assist. The kind man helped Missy hold her rod up with one hand and held her at the top of the steep bank with the other while I slid down the bank with net in hand. Eventually, I netted the fat rainbow and laid it in the soft grass for Missy to admire. 
Rainbow trout are a spectacular game fish and this one was no exception. The combination of colors ran from black to silver to a brilliant, deep purple accented with random black spots. The chunky 'bow had broken the water several times in an attempt to throw the hook before coming to the net. At that point I don't know who was more excited, me or the smiling little girl with the twinkling blue eyes who had just caught her first rainbow trout. Not her first fish, mind you, but her first trout.
She was not the only one catching fish that day, either. Casey, soon to be twelve years old had just landed a dandy trout himself. Then he had a fish hit close to the bank in the swift water and it broke his line. Staring at the swriling water in disbelief he shouted "Dad, he broke my line! That was a BIG fish!" In minutes both Missy and Casey were fast into another fish and both of them landed another rainbow trout. Missy again needed a little assistance to get her fish landed but did most of it by herself. Casey on the other hand knew exactly what to do and he proceeded to slide the flopping fish through the green grass until it was far enough away from the river's edge to remove the hook and add to the now sagging stringer.
Both kids each caught another fish before they quit fishing for the day. Standing back and watching the children catching fish and getting involved only when Missy's high pitched scream of "Daddy help me!" could be heard above the sound of the rushing waters caused a warm glow deep in my soul, something which I cannot explain, something vastly different than what I experience day in and day out in the hectic, daily routine of life in the fast lane. Something of a great satisfaction that seemed to saturate every part of my being and cry for more.
No, I was not in Alaska catching the giant King salmon which are running that time of year. I was not in Canada catching the heavy weight smallmouth bass that you find there nor was I on a little known lake in Mexico catching double digit bass. I was doing something much more important than that. I was almost in my backyard in the Ozarks watching the kids catching fish on Spring River and having the time of their young lives.
