"Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world’s great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs...I am haunted by waters." - Norman MaClean

The Big Catch

It is no secret that I love to fly fish. There is a lot of observation, planning, and trial and error that go into it. There are some trout that will eat anything, usually brookies and some cutthroats more than others. The bigger, more experienced trout take more effort. When I get to the river and choose a good hole where a monster might be hiding in the depths, I observe the surroundings, the time of day, but most of all I observe and look for what might be on the menu. Usually there are little moths, caddis flies, and mosquitoes. I’ve learned that these prize trout, the ones that make it all worth it, are picky and are hard to fool. With just the right balance between art and skill, you can make one rise. I also strive to leave the banks and shallows to fish in the deeper waters where the big fish swim near the bottom in the cooler currents. When the hook is set, and the fight begins, all sense of time and worry about anything else is lost, and you are left suspended in a segment of time that belongs to you and the fish at the other end. There is no greater disappointment than when the fight with the fish is lost and it gets away with your fly in its mouth, but at the same time there is no greater thrill than fighting with the fish for ten or fifteen minutes till it gets tired enough to bring to shore. Then she is yours forever. In some ways fly fishing can be related to dating women. I would dare venture to say that a lot of women aren’t picky and will take any fisherman’s hook. I have always felt like I need to fish in the deeper water, and wait for a woman to rise and be caught up with what I have to offer. So it is that you will see me standing on the edge, somewhere just past shallow but near deep, with the water nearly up to the limit of my waders, in hopes of catching the most beautiful fish in the river. I am meant to fish in deep water...

Revisited

Sunday afternoons are always good times for reflection. I went to the old farmhouse that I had spent a good deal of my childhood in, after the conclusion of my sunday church services. The house, which was never very impressive to begin with, was in shambles, and a weatherbeaten shell of it's formality in my mind. The smell of sage still clung in the air, as I had remembered. I touched the ground that my bear feet had once trod hundreds of times over a decade ago. I didn't know why, but it made me sad and I felt like a dark cloud had been hung over my soul. It is always hard when this happens because I don't know who to turn to except God, and most times he makes me deal with it anyways. I looked around for some sign of memory that would give me hope and a little peace, and as I looked, I noticed the setting of many stories and many small moments that will always matter. Winter is still in full effect as I gaze on the mess of everything, but I didn't notice the cold as much as I noticed the growing hole in my heart. I realized the fear that was coming, and told myself that it had no place in my life. Even though I don't know the outcome of my journeys to come, I do know the direction i'm heading, and I pray that I may be led to good ends and good beginnings, for where somebody is going is all that really matters. When I look back on my past I realize that with each decision I made, came a lesson to be learned and appreciated. I still can't help but be haunted by it...