boxes. As time went on, the casts got longer and the kids got better. The more we talked about our goal of finishing the Cutt-Slam, the more excited the kids were about it. It became a milestone, a rite of passage for them. By late summer, they were like something out of a Jason Bourne movie - highly trained and ready for anything. I remember asking Spunky right after her seventh birthday what she wanted to do and her response was immediate: “Its Cutt-Slam time!”
Our base camp would be the same place it always is – the cabin in the Wind Rivers. We planned to fish near Big Piney for Colorado River cutthroats, over the top of the Wyoming Range and into the Greys River for Snake River cutts, and over South Pass to the Wind River for Yellowstone cutts. On the night before our first day, the kids were like bird dogs on the eve of the hunt, quivering with excitement. They couldn’t eat, they couldn’t sleep. If I could have turned them loose on the fish at 11 PM, I would have.
Breakfast is hot chocolate and homemade scones from Mama B as we head for the door. We load the little ones in the pickup, scrambling and scuffling like coyote pups in the early morning light. It is simply priceless. These kids are doing something most kids will never have the opportunity to do. They are on the road and headed for adventure. We see a cow moose, a whole hayfield full of sage grouse, a pair of sandhill cranes and a bald eagle. Each one is like the first one ever created for these little ones – something to be oohed and aahed over, something to be treasured. And before you know it, we’re there. And we’re actually fishing.