Floating with Barry
A couple years ago, new to Washington, I made my first trip to the Yakima River—a Columbia tributary in the southcentral part of the state. I arrived after dark, with moonlight revealing glimpses of the river as I neared the campground. By the time I got there it was pushing midnight, yet most of the campers were still awake. As I organized some gear, I overheard my neighbors discussing the day’s fishing. Their campfire was burning so I wandered over.
Scattered around the site were four beatup tents, a half-dozen rickety camp chairs, a stack of rafts, a truck-bed trailer, and Barry, the site’s occupant. I asked about the fishing and Barry gave a lengthy report…
