There are weekends on the water when everything works, and then there are those that leave you scratching you head. Those perplexing times on the river or stream when you see the fish, you know they are there, you can sit and watch them feed for hours, but as soon as you cast a fly on the water, they sink into the shadows. Life in general, it seems, holds the same deck of cards.
Expecting life to be a serendipitous menagerie of highflying success is to set ones self up for complete and total failure. However, interspersed amongst the downward spiral are moments that at best offer you success, and at the very worst, offer hope, which is sometimes all we need.
The annual gathering of fellowship was this past weekend and though I enjoyed myself, I found it difficult to “get into the swing”. It was great to see old friends and have a good laugh. Nevertheless, all the while, I found myself lost in a cascade of thoughts that circled around a solitary period of time on the river.
The weekend started with the potential for a true donnybrook with a fellow who was old enough to be my Grandfather, and after being chided by him for ruining his “wilderness experience”, I allowed myself to wallow in anger. That of course led to hanging in trees, ripping my waders, missing at least one “Holy Crap”, and just a heavy dose of negative Karma that no doubt made the fishing all the more difficult for me.
Night one was exceptional and it was a true joy to see a bunch of scraggly coots that have effectively imbedded themselves into my life. Still, as I sat, pickin or shootin the breeze, I was clearly a couple of bubbles off plumb.
Day two, I awoke with a renewed feeling of hope. With a boo in hand, and a little fire under my feet, I set out with Jermz, my outstanding traveling companion. First cast of the day…bam!...fish on. And the day made steady improvement. This day also included one brief but thrilling tussle with a lower Nan fish that no doubt was a true Holy Crap. It even offered me the gift of an amazing airborne body roll with its entire length dancing through the air sending water…and my fly sailing everywhere. After I regained my composure and had a brief moment of repose…back to fishing. I could feel myself settling down, shaking the bad Karma, and getting into that old familiar groove.
Day three, I found myself further up on the Nan than I had traveled before, and my motions were so fluid that I felt like I was fishing through a dream. These are the moments that I live for. Fish or no fish, I was in my zone, I had caught my groove, and there were compliant fish. Then came the rain. For some this is a bad thing, for me it is like manna from Heaven. I love those gray rainy days when you are invisible, quiet, and lurking.
By the time we left for home, I felt like I wished that I had felt on Friday. Took me three days to get there…but I got there, and that is what made the trip for me.
A man reaching middle age faster that he cares to admit, with three little ones and another on the way can easily be swallowed up by the worries of the world. I didn’t realize just how “swallowed up” I had been. I really needed this trip.
To all who were there…thanks.
Expecting life to be a serendipitous menagerie of highflying success is to set ones self up for complete and total failure. However, interspersed amongst the downward spiral are moments that at best offer you success, and at the very worst, offer hope, which is sometimes all we need.
The annual gathering of fellowship was this past weekend and though I enjoyed myself, I found it difficult to “get into the swing”. It was great to see old friends and have a good laugh. Nevertheless, all the while, I found myself lost in a cascade of thoughts that circled around a solitary period of time on the river.
The weekend started with the potential for a true donnybrook with a fellow who was old enough to be my Grandfather, and after being chided by him for ruining his “wilderness experience”, I allowed myself to wallow in anger. That of course led to hanging in trees, ripping my waders, missing at least one “Holy Crap”, and just a heavy dose of negative Karma that no doubt made the fishing all the more difficult for me.
Night one was exceptional and it was a true joy to see a bunch of scraggly coots that have effectively imbedded themselves into my life. Still, as I sat, pickin or shootin the breeze, I was clearly a couple of bubbles off plumb.
Day two, I awoke with a renewed feeling of hope. With a boo in hand, and a little fire under my feet, I set out with Jermz, my outstanding traveling companion. First cast of the day…bam!...fish on. And the day made steady improvement. This day also included one brief but thrilling tussle with a lower Nan fish that no doubt was a true Holy Crap. It even offered me the gift of an amazing airborne body roll with its entire length dancing through the air sending water…and my fly sailing everywhere. After I regained my composure and had a brief moment of repose…back to fishing. I could feel myself settling down, shaking the bad Karma, and getting into that old familiar groove.
Day three, I found myself further up on the Nan than I had traveled before, and my motions were so fluid that I felt like I was fishing through a dream. These are the moments that I live for. Fish or no fish, I was in my zone, I had caught my groove, and there were compliant fish. Then came the rain. For some this is a bad thing, for me it is like manna from Heaven. I love those gray rainy days when you are invisible, quiet, and lurking.
By the time we left for home, I felt like I wished that I had felt on Friday. Took me three days to get there…but I got there, and that is what made the trip for me.
A man reaching middle age faster that he cares to admit, with three little ones and another on the way can easily be swallowed up by the worries of the world. I didn’t realize just how “swallowed up” I had been. I really needed this trip.
To all who were there…thanks.
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