YAKIMA -- One of my little rituals is getting the mail from the mailbox everyday; I like checking to see if anyone has sent me anything. It's kind of reassuring, like I'm still alive.

This week I received a beautifully designed brochure from Portland State University titled, "Alumni work to expand PSU Art Community." PSU is where I went to graduate school. I received my master's degree in 1978 and now, 30 years later, they finally caught up with me. I found it disturbing, especially the photos of people I actually knew 30 years ago. Why, I asked, are they still hanging around the hallowed halls of academia? And why are they reaching out to me, a lowly, lowly, old Trout Bum? When they were kids, did they dream of being on committees and "generating new relationships and networks?"

When we lived in Omaha, my brother and I had pets. I had fish and Gary had turtles; we also had the evil Dachshund, Hans. Once in a while, one of my brother's turtles would wander off and expire. Turtles are pretty quiet, so we could never hear them calling for help. Later we would find their remains in weird places, like Dad's shoes -- that is, if the dog didn't find them first and have turtle tartare.

When Gary would find a turtle corpse, he had a funeral. First he would construct a casket out of a matchbox with a cotton ball liner and special masking-tape seal; then the casket would go into a small plastic box with more tape and, finally, into the flowerbed with a little Popsicle stick marker.

I would guess Gary was about 7 at the time he began with the turtle funerals; 13 years later he was the youngest licensed funeral director in the state of Oregon.

Really, you can't make this stuff up.

So I ask myself, what are the first indications of becoming a future Trout Bum? If you could catch it early, maybe a life spent chasing trout could be turned into some productive and positive vocation. I've made an extensive and, for me, fairly scientific study of the subject. (Well, I mean, I did ask my Trout Bum community a few questions about their childhood propensities and the connection to their adult fishing life. What I found out is that most of these guys can't remember what they had for lunch, let alone what they did as kids.)

My conclusion: You can be struck down at any time by the pure joy of fly-fishing and after that the Trout Bum life is just around the corner.

I e-mailed the PSU art department committee with my updated information; they want to know how my PSU art education has affected my life. I would say it has been as useful as a long-sleeved Hawaiian shirt, but that I, too, dream of generating new relationships and networks. On rivers I have yet to see.

* Trout Bums At Large, written by Randal Sumner, appears six times a year on the last Thursday of every other month. Sumner, a fly fisherman since 1972, is owner of Blue Skies Guide Service on the Yakima River. Trout Bums can be reached at randal@blueskiesfishing.com