Narrator: Ever since there have been fathers and sons... there have been father-and-son traditions. Rituals that bond man to boy. And knit boy to man. In my family, there was one tradition that outranked all others in sheer gross ritual tonnage. The tri-annual Arnold three-day fishing trip. Every few years, Dad would round up the poles and boots and his old Army tent from the attic... and pack us off for a weekend at Berlinger Falls. Not that we had a choice in the matter. So, that fall of nineteen-seventy-two... we headed off for our first expedition since I was twelve. The funny thing is... of all the trips we ever made... it's the one I remember most. Not because it was the best - or the worst... but because... it was the last.