My daughter Abby has always been athletic and artistic. And like many dads, I played catch with her, took her to piano lessons and sports practices and games when she was young. I took her brother, Justin, to sports and band practices too, but somehow I ended up taking my son fly fishing more often than Abby when they were growing up. I don’t know why. I remember taking her to some rivers and streams a few years ago during her college break, and later, loaning her a rod and some flies so she could fish with the latest boyfriend. But beyond that, I never knew that she was quietly becoming a fly angler on her own.As time passed, I began guiding fly fishing sports at Mike Holt’s Fly Fishing Only Shop in nearby Fairfield, all the while quietly hoping I’d get a chance to take either my son or daughter on a fishing trip. Meanwhile, Abby and her boyfriend, Robby had stopped in to the shop, met Mike and Linda and soon after that, Mike suggests to me that I take Abby on a drift boat trip to Solon along with Richard Procopio, a well-known outdoors photographer who wanted some photos of a dad and daughter fishing together. We quickly set a June date and Mike, being the prince-of-a-guy he is, paid for the boat shuttle . As a fly fishing guide, I constantly try to think of every way I can put my clients over fish, often suggesting ways to cast, mend, what flies to use, all the while positioning the boat near likely spots. But guiding Abby this bright June day, I soon felt I was trying way too hard. Abby and I left Richard in the drift boat and waded together along a deep run just below Evergreen Campground. As we waded to a run, I must have been cautioning her about being careful, jabbering about reel hand and line hand, reminding her about watching her back cast, her mending, all in a streak of fatherly blather. She quietly turned to me and gently said, “Dad. I’m OK. It’s cool. I got it.” So I shut up. I watched her cast. She laid out forty feet of fly line, flipped a beautiful mend, and began to strip in the little streamer like a professional. I thought, “Man, what has she been up to and where have I been? Talk about cooling a father’s jets. Rising Fish Plus Confident AnglerMy friend Richard was snapping pictures the whole trip down river and said he didn’t even want to fish, he was happy to just take photos. We had our lunch on the shore, talking about mostly what a great day this was and how it felt great to be seeing all the scenery and wild life. Abby was asking more serious questions about what flies were hatching than most clients I have guided, and I soon relaxed, feeling more comfortable just watching her fish, slipping away from the guide role back into just fatherhood. We came to a broad bend in the lower stretch of the river and saw some fish quietly sipping caddis emergers in the lower part of a slipstream near the bank. Soon, our voices lowered as we watched the fish feed, and Abby just turned from her position standing in the bow whispering softly, “Dad. Hand me that small Caddis Emerger you have.” I reached for her leader. “No, I can tie it on myself!” I’ve got the range on this fish, Dad. He’s gonna take!” In a few seconds she clinched on the tiny fly. She shot a gentle cast just above the rising Brown with one confdent stroke.I saw her rod arm rise sharply, but gently. Then I lost it. My mouth started up again and I was back in guiding mode, spewing out all sorts of cautions. Man, I didn’t want this fish to get away! All my urgings were completely unnecessary, as Abby quietly had the fish under her total control despite my ongoing panicky narrative. The rest of the story is pictured here on the August cover of The Maine Sportsman and her Brown Trout is still there for us to catch another time, hopefully again this June. Etched in my memory is this day with my daughter and the promise of more days to come.