"Late at night and wakeful, I don't count sheep as some do. I have another approach. I fish a reach of my river, a Vancouver Island stream born in mountain country that drops by way of riffles and pools and freshet-carved bars to a Strait of Georgia forty miles away."So begins this gentle, humorous, engaging memoir: a heartfelt appreciation of British Columbia's wild places, a tribute to the art and science of fishing - and, most of all, a funny, poignant story of how love and respect between father and son grow through many decades.In the 1930s, Arthur's father, the Reverend Amos William Mayse, moved the family from Winnipeg to Nanaimo. There they first fished their beloved Oyster River. Arthur's story unfolds from there, like the sweet, meandering river itself: the afternoon Arthur went from worm and spinner to real fly-fishing (with a Royal Coachman); the day he borrowed a tuft of two-toned badger bristles from Amos's shaving brush in order to tie the perfect fly; the moment on a fishing trip when Arthur and Amos, mid-estuary in hip-waders, realized suddenly they were surrounded by sharks. "He was a simple man and a good one," Arthur writes, "the best I've known." Their love of fishing, conservation, the outdoors, and each other are the stuff of a deftly understated, very moving memoir.
