This email is from David, here's what he writes.

I was five years old in the summer of 1976, and me and my brother were on a two week camping

trip with my grandparents in North Idaho.

I was born in North Idaho, but my parents moved us to Seattle, Washington when I was

four years old, so visiting my grandparents in Idaho for a month or two in the summer

became a regular thing when I was a kid.

My grandfather was an avid outdoorsman and had all the gear with the truck and a camper

and a couple of Honda 90 trail bikes.

Both my grandpa and grandma were loving and kind people and loved to go camping in the

mountains of North Idaho.

We were camped in my grandpa's favorite camping spot on a creek near the St. Joe River.

There was another party camping nearby, and they stopped to let us know that a cougar

had been seen earlier that morning walking down the middle of the gravel road, and they

wanted us to be aware that it could still be around.

My grandpa thanked them and let them know that he would tell them if he saw it.

My grandpa took me fishing while my brother and grandma worked on collecting firewood for

the fire pit.

There was a part of the creek that my grandpa could walk in without getting too wet and

fish a really good area on the other side of the creek.

I followed a little bit into the creek and then I lost interest and started looking for

cool rocks.

My grandpa wasn't very far away, maybe thirty feet or so when his line got a hit from

...