by Jon Novoselac

Digging through some old photos recently, I came across this.

Circa 1988. I was about 12 years old. We were living in Wisconsin, and my Dad took me fishing late one autumn afternoon. He was grumpy. He was always grumpy. But he was a great man, and he loved fishing.

And it’s proof that I certainly have caught a trout or two in the past. Humph.