Mother, You’re not very common, fly fishing mother. You should know that; on this day, your day, mother’s day. How common is the mother who will spend her vacation camping on Rock Creek Montana, in early April? It snowed that trip didn’t it? I remember chipping our frozen boots off the rocks each morning. But remember that cutthroat that came up and refused my fly, then came back for the bigger one? Remember fishing your first drake hatch? You’re not very common, fly fishing mother. You should know that; and know how I appreciate all you have done to fuel my addiction. How common is the mother who stands waving as her son flies up to Alaska to be a fly fishing guide, then quits her job two years later and flies up to Alaska to be a fly fishing lodge chef. Remember that first night, catching lake trout off the beach under the sun at midnight? Remember exploding stoves and freezer burns and that float down the Moraine? You’re not very common, fly fishing mother. You should know that; and how I value our insane trips together. How common is the mother who straps on thirty pounds of gear to fish for four days? Remember that backpacking trip, with no trail? Remember the rattlesnakes and sore feet and wading with packs overhead? Remember the native redband trout that had never seen a fly, exploding out of the water on the end of our lines? I remember. You’re not very common, fly fishing mother; I thought I’d let you know. Here’s to you, fly fishing mother. Happy mother’s day.