For FishingMagician.com, I'm Eric Granstrom. I have no idea what time it was when he leaned his head into my room to wake me up and tell me it was time to go fishing. I was 8 and all I knew is that it was dark outside. Finally, after pestering him for weeks upon his return from his summer commercial fishing in Alaska, Dad was taking me fly fishing on the Pilchuck. From our little red house in Sedro-Woolley, it was a 25-minute drive just to get close. I think he knew we'd have fresh cinnamon rolls waiting for us at grandma's house once we were done. I stayed awake until the sun's glint came through the window of grandpa's 1966 Ford pickup truck. Suddenly I felt very heavy in the coil-spring seat and I turned my head towards the window. I'm sure he knew I was pretending to watch for deer in passing fields as my head began to bob and thump against the glass. The squeal of the brakes rousted me from my slumber and the sound of rushing water pumped my veins full of excitement. Fly fishing with Dad...the best of times. Until next time, Good Fishing!