“Oh childhood, O images slipping from us. Whither Whither?” Rilke
Fishing after school brings back memories. As a kid, I would
rush home, grab my fly rod and rush up to a private pond that was loaded with
Largemouth Bass. Back then, I only carried a fly rod and kept in my pocket an
extra white marabou streamer. No vest. No waders. Not even an extra leader.
This past week, after school, I drove down to Pueblo’s
Arkansas River. Of course I am no longer a student but
rather I am an educator. Yet I felt some of that old excitement of being a
child and looking for big fish. Some things never change. And some things do.
I now carry a lot of equipment. Too much perhaps. I was geared up with two rigged fly rods, my
vest stuffed with fly boxes containing thousands and thousands of flies and
numerous pieces of tackle, leaders and tools and gadgets. And of course I had waders. How different from
fishing during the simplicity of childhood when I only wore shorts and
sneakers.
The big rainbows were there. I could see them just as I
could see big bass in the shallows of the pond I fished as a kid. My eye sight is still good. In certain ways sight casting to bass was similar
to casting to rainbows. Spot the fish,
put the fly in front of the fish. I didn’t need the extra tackle. Extra tackle
does not help the eyes. I caught several large bows 19-22 inches and several smaller
fish. As is most often the case, I missed many. It didn’t matter.
I only fished two hours. I accomplished what I had hoped for
and brought something back unexpected.
Something from long ago, a deep and loving memory of being a child on a late sunny afternoon walking a pond stalking
fish with seeing eyes, hope in my heart and fly line looping over head toward
the skies.
Oh images, do not slip away.
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