Is the Fishing Still Good In Eleven Mile Canyon?

A struggling farmer works his crops for years. One day his horse runs away. Upon hearing the news, his neighbors come and sympathetically say, “Such bad luck”. The farmer replies, “Maybe”. The next morning the horse returned bringing with it three other wild horses. “How wonderful,” the neighbors exclaimed. “Maybe”, replied the old man. The following day, his son tried to ride one of the untamed horses, was thrown off, and broke his leg. Again, the neighbors came to offer their sympathy on his misfortune. “maybe”,  answered the farmer. The day after, the military tried to draft young men into the army but seeing the boys leg broken, they passed by. The neighbors praised the farmer on how well things had turned out. “Maybe” said the farmer. 

When I guide folks in Eleven Mile Canyon this time of year sometimes the client will say, “I heard Fall is the best time of year to fish so the fishing should be good right”? I usually answer, “Maybe”. This was the case of the last two weekends when I guided some groups into 11 mile canyon.

I have learned that when it comes to fly fishing many things are a “Maybe” because rarely can life be so simple and predictable. And thank God, life is this way. Fishing and the spiritual life are unpredictable, wild and untamed; beyond our control.

Sometimes while guiding and I do my usual demo casts to teach the clients proper technique, I will catch a fish on the very first cast. The clients who witness such a feat will sometimes respond, “The fishing is going to be great. This looks easy”.  Of course, I know better but I will politely reply, “Maybe”. (and, I really have seen this go either way, in terms of how good the fishing is for the clients).

Over the years I think I have experienced both the fortunate and the unfortunate of just about every possible event when it comes to fly fishing. Here are only a few of those situations.

I might be guiding and the fishing is fair and then a hatch starts to take place. The fish go crazy. The clients seeing this say, “The fishing is really going to get good now”. Once again, I  know I have to respond to such a statement with a “Perhaps”. This is because I know when the fish respond to a hatch and switch to dry flies the fishing can be way more challenging even though we see the fish gorging on the surface.

Weather conditions can go either way also. A couple of years ago I had an early morning guide trip. We were heading up the pass and it was one of those rare mornings where instead of clear blue skies it was overcast and raining. My client, did not make any assumptions but rather humbly asked how the rainy conditions would impact the fishing. Once again, from past experience, I had no choice but to respond with a set of “Maybes” , “Maybe it can shut down the trico hatch but maybe it can  turn on the blue winged mayfly hatch” ( I have found that tricos love sunshine while BWO’s love overcast). I have had great fishing on BWO’s during intense rainstorms and even snowstorms but have also seen certain types of weather shut the fishing down. I have seen wind help and not help. I have seen the fishing be both great and terrible early in the morning and or in the afternoon.

We also need to not jump to hasty conclusions even when we lose a fish. More than one time while battling a large fish and the hooked pulled out and I even heard several observers sigh, “Oh too bad, that was a big fish”. But a moment after the hook pulled out I sighted an even bigger fish, casted to it, hooked it and landed it.

One time while guiding a young person at Deckers and he was battling a 22 inch rainbow that he hooked on a brown San Juan Worm. We were stuck in a stalemate. The boy could not go further downstream due to the heavy current. I was downstream of both the boy and the fish standing there with my long handled net trying to figure out what to do. The boy put some pressure on the fish bringing it to the surface where it then started to slash its body and head back and forth. The tippet broke. The Dad who was video taping the whole thing saw the leader fly back toward the boy and his rod no longer bent yelled with disappointment, “Ah, It got away”!  The boy yelled, “I lost it” The Dad put the video recorder down.  Meanwhile, I kept my eyes on the fish that was still slashing at the surface with the San Juan worm in its jaw. The current was pushing the big fish downstream toward me as it instinctively kept trying to shake the hook. If I could have shouted something back to the boy and the father’s comment of the fish having gotten away it would have been, “Maybe or maybe not”. There was no time for yelling anything. I lunged forward and scooped up the large fish!.

I have grown to appreciate the “maybe’s” in life and I have learned to question arrogant certainties.

As far as how well the fishing has been in 11 mile canyon this Fall is a bit mixed. It can be good; Maybe.  I am still finding spots in the quality section that are having good BWO and even trico hatches. The hatches are not everywhere. They are a “maybe”. But I will say this, If you do find a hatch this time of year, maybe it will last longer into the afternoon. Or at least that is what I have seen.

The Fisher King

Often while at my work or trying to relate to people or sometimes even while fly fishing I feel weak and ineffective. In some sense, I feel like the lame and wounded “fisher king”, who is in need of healing.

During such times it is quite easy for me to think nothing of royalty, kingship and power. How powerful could I be if I can’t catch a fish or make the simplest of decisions needed through out the course of the day or how I don’t want to be bothered by anything or anyone because I feel so ineffective?

Yet, no matter how weak I feel I cannot completely forget about certain verses in the Bible that speak of being part of a “royal priesthood”. I wonder if somehow,  I am spiritually wired to know something of divine royalty even as I feel a bit crazy for even entertaining such thoughts. I laugh at myself and think, “Royalty?  Kingship?  What do you know of royalty when you feel so weak”?  But then again, as crazy as it all sounds and how contradictory my experiences might be, I cannot shake off some sense of royalty deep in my blood.

And as is often the case the poets help me. Theodore Roethke asks, “What is madness but nobility of soul at odds with circumstance”.  I wonder if that is why life feels so strange to me? Is that why I feel a bit crazy? Is my madness simply the nobility of my soul at odds with circumstance?

Williams Stafford describes how difficult and lonely life can be for the individual and particularly for one who might have a sense of royalty deep in his bones. He writes how, “When the great wind comes and the robberies of the rain leave you standing on the corner shivering”;  and how we can  “watch the people who go by and how we wonder at their calm”. And how people can, “Miss the whisper that runs any day in your mind”.

And for me, like the poet, the whisper inside my head asks me again and again, “Who are you really, wanderer?”?

“And the answer I have to give no matter how dark and cold the world around me is, maybe I’m a king.”

A wounded king in desperate need of healing.

Great Fish, Great Races

“There was once an old man who fished alone in a skiff in the Gulf Stream and he had gone 84 days without taking a fish.”

I never went 84 days with out taking a fish but it had been a while since I caught a truly great fish.  When Santiago, the old man in Hemingway’s novel of, “The Old Man and the Sea”, went fishless for 84 days it was a serious matter since he earned his living and his dinner by catching fish.

So he went farther out in the gulf than he had ever gone before and it was there that he hooked the giant marlin. After a heroic battle he caught the great fish but only for it to be eaten by sharks before he could bring it back to land. All he had was an enormous skeleton. 

Besides it being a relatively long time since I have caught a great fish it has also been a long time since I ran a truly great running race. Over the years there had been a few great races. Defining a ‘great race’ or a ‘great fish’ is difficult. I have my own criteria. For me a great race or a great fish involves something extraordinary.   But when one is 52 years old, slowing down with some nagging aches, pains and waning drive one has to consider that maybe a chance of a great race is over for me.

As I age I try to run smarter. As Santiago said, “I may be old and I may not be as strong but I know many tricks and I have resolution”. And so, I try to run smarter with better pacing. Start off slow and gradually increase the pace. I try to be determined to pour it on strong in the end and over come the competition later in the race.  

But there comes a time when it seems that even the tricks don’t work anymore. I would start off slow and yet I was never able to pick up the pace.  The competition simply ran away from me. And where was my resolution?

As I thought about great races and great fish  I thought of the Frying Pan River and the hole right below the dam. There are other places but I thought of the Frying Pan because my wife and I had a trip planned to go to Buena Vista and run in a race and then head over to Aspen and Maroon Bells to hike among the golden aspen. I thought of the big rainbows that live below the dam gorging on mysis shrimp. Maybe, a chance at a great fish?  

First, the race.  I wanted to run the half marathon which is a better race for me since it a long distance endurance event. A 5k is a better race of the young at heart who can rely on sheer speed. I don’t have much speed anymore but I do have respectable endurance.  The only problem was that the half marathon race was filled before I could register. On a whim I decided to try the 5k but my motivation of even committing to the race was weak at best.  

I know by the usual definition of the word ‘great’ I did not run a great race. I have run far faster 5k’s.  But there was something extra-ordinary about this race. First of all I flat out won the race overall which is quite rare and “extra-ordinary”  for me. Also, true to my criteria of a great race, what made it extra-ordinary was the fact that I won the race with a relatively “ordinary”  time.  It is also extraordinary that I almost did not even run the race. The night before the race I was searching for other races and so I did not bring much enthusiasm to the race. 

So, in the end I won a race that I did not  really even want to run and with not a ‘great time’ and with out great resolution.  But I do no deny that I gave it my best effort and it hurt. It is just strange. Sometimes, I notice that the more I get “geared up” for some race or fishing trip, the worse I do, and then those times when I am almost apathetic, sometimes extraordinary things happen.

And what about that great fish below the dam on the Frying Pan River?  That one really great fish?  It got away. I saw it. I saw it take my mysis shrimp pattern.  I set. The hook simply pulled out. 

But I think I will have another shot at a great fish.  Less sure about another great race.

More Than A Fine Fisherman: Seeing More With More Than The Best Polarized Sun Glasses

Toward the end of, “A River Runs Through It”, Norman Macleen and his Father have their last conversation about Paul and his death. The Reverend Maclean asks Norman one last time if he told him everything.  Norman responds, “I’ve said I’ve told you all I know.  If you push me far enough all I really know is that he was fine fishermen.”  His father says, “You know more than that, he was beautiful”.   

Paul, beautiful? While he was beautiful with a fly rod it seems he lived a rather clumsy life, reckless and selfish. Maybe we are all this way in some sense and maybe in our state of selfishness and self absorption, we can’t see the true beauty in others or ourselves. I know I often cannot see the beauty in life. I often tend to see what is ugly. I tend to make judgments declaring things as “ugly” instead of seeing the beautiful.  I am hard on myself and hard on others.

It seems that the Reverend Maclean had a better perspective on seeing the beauty of life. I am moved by how the Reverend Maclean sees Paul as beautiful. In spite of all the pain and brokenness that occurred, in the end, he sees his son as beautiful. And I think his view of his son as beautiful goes beyond a fatherly love. It goes beyond a Christian virtue.  His conclusion seems to run deeper, deeper than the river they fished.

It seems that C.S Lewis also saw things this way. He writes, “It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember the dullest and most uninteresting person you talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship….We shall be remade, and we shall find underneath a thing we have never imagined: a real man, an ageless god, a son of God, strong, radiant, wise, beautiful, and drenched in joy.”

I try to think about this when I feel weak, unnoticed, down and ineffective.  “Strong, radiant, wise, beautiful and drenched in joy.” 

I try to think of this when I am fishing or stuck in traffic and everyone seems annoying to me. I try to see, “real men, ageless gods”, something even the best polarized glasses will never help me see.  

Rest In Between Two Notes: Finding Contentment While Fly Fishing In Between Time

While fly fishing there are those drifts you make when time seems to be suspended.  There is a ‘knowing’ that something is going to happen. You can almost feel it or sense it but even these words are inadequate to describe something that lies too deep for rational thought and discussions on fly fishing technique.

Most often when I try to pray (for lack of a better word), I am not in that place of quiet flow where I sense something is going to happen.  I am out of flow. Maybe I am too rushed or chatty or too cerebral or I just don’t feel comfortable being at a quiet depth for any length of time. .

“I am not this steeply sloping hour in which you see me hurrying, much stands behind me”, said the poet Rilke. I can relate. There is a place deep inside me that moves (or is still???) at a pace that is not a frantic rushing. Yet, most of the time, I rush anyway and away from that still point.  Most often I am not in a deep still place.  Most often I am not at a pace or ‘place’ that transcends time.  

Rilke goes on and says, “I am the rest in between two notes”. Deep down, perhaps when I feel most at peace with myself, it is when I am at rest in between two notes. Maybe that resting point is a more true indication of what my soul is all about and what I am really all about, instead of all my anxious rushing about in the, “steeply sloping hour”.  I notice I am most content during those “In-between” places and moments in time or what might be called ‘down time’. It is those moments when I am sitting alone in a coffee shop doing nothing or walking a river alone looking for fish.

No matter how much I am unable to be at peace, deep down I am aware of a still point where I perceive something can happen. Perhaps God is at that still point. Perhaps He is that rest. And that is where we meet.

While we are in that place and drifting our flies in between two points in time, the time interval after the cast and before the next one, it is in this flow, this ‘down time’, that the fish takes the fly. Out of this quiet place that lies to deep for explanation or words, something happens.