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Today is the old man's birthday, he was born in 1933. I took this picture when we went to Alaska, and it's a fitting monument to him. He caught his first fish on his grandfather's farm when he was 3 and it never lost its magic for him. Every fish he caught after that was just like the first time; it was always amazing to watch a grown man turn into a little kid right before your eyes. He retired and planned to spend his remaining years fishing (naturally), but he suffered a major stroke a week later and he was never the same. I hope he's off somewhere now landing a huge brown trout. I'll never cast a line again without missing him.