For the past ten years my grandfather's first cousin has been flying out from Pottstown, PA to fish SW Montana with my father and I. He quickly became closer to me than a grandfather and my favorite fishing buddy. Each year, for one week, Roland and I would explore new waters, sit on grassy banks with beers discussing the many matters of life, and enjoy friendship.
Last summer I floated him on the Big Hole on a hot August day and he suffered a stroke during lunch. I rushed him to the Butte hospital, where he spent a week recovering. Though it was near impossible for him to decide, over dinner at his home in PA this May he concluded that at eighty years old he would not be able to make it out to visit me this year. We shared tears as we drank scotch and looked over past photos and retold fish stories in his study.
I called him a couple of weeks ago to update him on the fishing out here and check on his health. He was doing great and looked forward to seeing me at his house again this September, but this morning I received word that he died of a burst blood clot in the brain.
I guided today on the Big Hole and fought back tears as I recalled the great times we had together on the river and the conversations we had. He was watching over though because for the first time this year I saw thousands of salmon flies and caught over 40 fish; the best day i've had in years.
The fishing world lost a passionate and compassionate angler and I lost a great friend. Rest in peace Roland Turnbach
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