The Kootenays have been my home for twenty years, but fishing has been my home my whole life. It started with my Grandpa. He taught me to tie flies, he taught me patience, he taught me fishing is more than just having one on the line.

My Grandpa was a hardened old man, he'd been a P.O.W in the second World War, he took part in the 'Great Escape'.  He was passionate about fishing. He had a trout stocked pond on his farm and anytime he wanted fish for dinner he'd go hook one, clean it and eat it. But there was one fish we could never catch, the biggest fish, the oldest fish, a fish we called "Orca".

As he lay on his deathbed surrounded by family i heard him gasp, and i knew his time was close. I was ten years old. I ran outside the farmhouse, grabbed my rod and sprinted to the pond. It only took three casts and I had Orca on the line. For ten minutes that felt like an hour i fought the mythical fish and in the end i dragged him to the shore. I clubbed him three times pulled out the hook and ran to the house with the fish held high. I went right up to his room and cried "Grandpa I got him". He looked up at me, gave my hand a squeeze and shortly after breathed his last breath.

  My name is Happy and i love to fish!