Casting In-between Seasons: Fall/Winter Transition

I feel the shift inside me every late Fall. The shift is a restlessness as I try orient myself seasonally. When I fish this time of year I feel I am casting in-between two seasons. I am not sure where I belong. The geese over head are moving south. I am here; caught in-between.

The harsh cold wind and snow this morning intensifies my disorientation. The cold and snow reminds me that it is no longer summer. Perhaps it is no longer Fall. Yet, it is not quite winter.  It is a  season in-between and I am caught in-between.

I often feel "in-between." I am often in-between various groups of people. I am not at ease sitting in church among the religious nor am I at ease among those who claim there is no God.

At a deeper level, and in a more general sense, this time of year, I feel more spiritually sensitive to my "questionable" belonging. I feel more aware of being "Soaked in exile," uncertain of where I belong. Who are my people? Where is my place?

I recently reread Clarissa Pinkola Estes, "Women Who Run With Wolves," the section on "Belonging." I believe it is in chapter six. She talks about "The Ugly Duckling," wandering trying to find his place, family and his community. She goes on to describe this story as a "Root, spiritual story." Coming to terms with this story, is of vital importance in our spiritual, emotional and psychological growth. Estes says if we do not understand this story and come to terms with it, true growth is questionable. Understanding a root story is fundamental to our growth just as a basic cast is fundamental to developing our fly fishing techniques

The orphan archetype is powerful and this same archetype is a powerful theme of the Bible. We see God's people wandering the Earth as "aliens and strangers." We also see it in Jesus, but many Christians prefer to see Jesus differently. We tend to prefer the Jesus of the "Prosperity Gospel;" The Jesus that hands out blessing in the forms of cash and town-homes on golf courses. That Jesus is a fun and popular guy. 

Certainly an argument could be made that if a person is completely alienated in his/her world, then something is wrong or out of balance. I can accept that argument. There is at least some truth there.
However are we aware of how the world offers us so many consolations, pills and thrills, and clubs that can distract us from feeling any kind of legitimate spiritual alienation? Are we open to how we almost absolutely refuse to feel any form of alienation?  

Rather than blocking out and masking all kinds alienation we should ask ourselves a question: What does it mean if we never feel somewhat out of place in this world, if we never feel as though we are wanderers who can't quite fit in, if we never feel alienated in a world in which we are "constantly glimpsing God, and feeling our whole nature still soaked in exile?"

If that is the reality of the human spiritual condition. If it is true that we are the "Ugly Ducklings," of the world, wandering in search of our true place,  then perhaps we should be feeling at least some of that exile and feeling somewhat lost.

And then perhaps we should start paying some attention to the beautiful swans over head that might be calling to us.  

Deckers: Riding the Storm Out

Time and time again, when you plan to go fish and there is a storm coming; JUST GO!
Ride the storm out and you might be rewarded.

We had snow, wind and some pockets of clear skies: typical Colorado weather. We had cold hands and feet but we rode it out and caught some nice fish.

We were not missing a thing in the city. 


"I've been thinking lately of what I'm missing in the city,
and I'm not missing a thing." (REO Speedwagon)

Eleven Mile Canyon In-Between Storms

A blue sky,  mild November day in 11 Mile Canyon.

First Cast Fish at Deckers South Platte River

I do not know what it means when someone picks up a fly rod for the first time in their life, haphazardly flops the fly on the South Platte River and a fish takes the fly.  Such was the case this morning when my client who had never fly-fished, netted a fish on her very first cast. The cast was made, the fish was on and screaming down the river.  For those of us who regularly fish the South Platte River at Deckers, we know how stacked the odds are against this feat.

How do we understand such events? Are they explainable? Do they mean anything? Are such events worthy of our attention and consideration?  Or, do we just quickly resolve the issue by calling it “Beginners Luck?” Yet, if we are honest with ourselves, we know this cliché does not completely explain the phenomena? The religious might call it a blessing of God but this also does not settle the issue as I want to ask,  “Why a blessing of God today with this person and not tomorrow with another?”

Before we consider quickly responding to these questions, we need to look at the opposite of “good luck” and consider what we call “bad luck.” For every story of good fortune when it seems that some “blessing” falls out of the sky (or comes down the river), there are countless other stories of misfortune.  Perhaps we are at the same loss of words to explain both the fortunes and misfortunes that make up our lives.

A fly fisher catches 5 or 6 big fish in the morning. Another angler just across the way, also hooks 5 or 6 big fish but only to have the hook pull out just before netting? Why? Is this good luck for one and bad luck for another?  Are the “fish gods” with the one and not the other? 

In the big scheme of things, does any of this matter? Yet, we can think of more important life events that results in more profound outcomes in our lives.  Our explanations can be just as vague. And maybe we need to stay unresolved and without definite conclusions.

In the end, I do not know. Or, at the very least I am not sure. I do believe though that when something happens and gets our attention, even such as the catching of a fish on our first cast, we could consider the event and ponder its occurrence.  We may never figure out its meaning but we can “live in the question.”  I have also found that as we live in these questions, this is probably not the time to quote scripture;  those “one liners” we often use out of context, to support ones explanation and viewpoint. All too often this results in superficial resolution and neglects the person standing across the river who might be fish-less.  

We ask the questions that have no answers. As we ponder the questions, we might vaguely become aware of a story, a bigger story, and yet, in some small ways, is the story of our individual lives. We become aware of both the seemingly fortunate and unfortunate events of our lives and those around us; all connected in the mystery of our life with God. 

Snow, Overcast Conditions On Dream Stream Bring B.W.O's to Surface

What a morning! Snow Falling, B.W.O's Emerging; Fish Rising.  The overcast conditions must have given the fish a "covering" and a sense of protection. It felt like we were fishing into an "extended" night. We found lots of feeding fish taking nymphs early on and then emergers and dry flies. The old gray RS2 was the best fly.

Ironically, I had told my client before hand that he would probably not have many opportunities on the Dream Stream because it has been fishing tough lately.  Glad I was wrong. It just fished well as he hooked fish after fish. If we had a typical sunny day, we both had the feeling the fish would have been far more selective.

Glad we went. We almost rescheduled the trip due to the weather. As is often the case, it is better to "just go," knowing that snow, rain and overcast, can often provide spectacular fishing.

We wish we had a photo of the big rainbow my client caught but it made one last jump out of my clients hands, back in the river, before I could snap the picture. It was a "slab." We did  get a picture of this respectable Brown,  capturing  some of the magic of the morning,  even as the brim of his hat captured some of the falling snow.  

Looking For Big Fish in All the Wrong Places: Big Fish Continue to Rise on Dream Stream

This time of year, on the dream stream, the crowds go after the big Browns that run up out of 11 mile reservoir. Most fly fishers are chucking heavily weighted nymphs and fishing down to the monsters that are laying low.  While sight fishing, we are looking "down," and this is exciting, but maybe we should try looking "up."

This morning, once again  there was a heavy Trico hatch that brought the fish up on top. I put aside my nymphing rod and fished to large rising Rainbows, Cutthroats and Cut-bows. I landed several heavy fish over 20 inches. It felt "right" to fish on top since that was where they were and they were actually eating. It also felt right to match the hatch and make a nice delicate dry fly presentation to fish I could see actively feeding. Dry fly fishing captures (for me) the essence of fly fishing and often embraces a different etiquette.  Sometimes, I just get tired of chucking lead and weighted flies to fish that are preoccupied.  

It is also common knowledge that there are a lot of little dinks that are rising. Yes, most of the rising fish are small, but in their midst you will sometimes hear a "slurp and a gulp" that is NOT made by a small fish. Cast to those gulpers and you may be rewarded for looking for the big fish in all the right places. 

I may sound like a "dry fly purest," but I am not. I get excited chasing BIG Browns, or, for that matter, any big fish laying low. However, right now, it just seems that there are more anglers than Big Browns in the river. It looks like every section of river has 50 anglers to one fish. It gets and looks to be a bit ridiculous. Sometimes I picture those big Browns "ducking" every time we throw our weighted nymphing rigs over them. 

What do we do?  Can we close off the river during the spawning runs?  This is probably not going to happen even though many would support it. Perhaps, when we do find big fish, we can at least learn to observe what they are doing. Are they feeding? Are they actively spawning? We can consider their beauty.

Whether the fish are rising or laying low, we could at least "go easy" on them. How many fish does it take to satisfy?  Do we have to keep on casting and casting; dredging and dredging, hour after hour? Even while dry fly fishing during a trico hatch, how many fish does a angler have to hook before enough is enough?

Even as I ask these questions I am aware that this approaching cold front bringing rain and snow might bring a surge of  big fish up the drainage. Who knows? And maybe the cold will keep some of the crowds away but I doubt it.  We can always look. We can look up and we can look down and hopefully, regardless of what we find, we can find that place inside of us that can be more easily satisfied.

A Thin Place: Enchanting Ireland

“My fiftieth year had come and gone, I sat a solitary man, an open book, an empty cup, upon the marble table top.”  Yeats.

Sitting in an Irish pub in Galway, Ireland, I thought of Yeats, sitting in pubs writing poetry and contemplating life. It was in this enchanted land, where Yeats spoke of fishing.  He says;

“I went out to the hazel wood,

 because a fire was inside my head,

 And cut and pealed a hazel wand,

 and hooked a berry to a thread,

And when white moths were on the wing,

And moth-like stars were flickering out,

I dropped the berry in a stream

And caught a little silver trout.”

Yeats is fly-fishing. If you get hung up in literalism, and want to argue he is not really fly-fishing and matching the hatch because he has hooked a berry to a thread, then you are missing the point.  I hope, quite simply and more importantly, that regardless of his fly fishing techniques, we can understand that he is more than fly-fishing.   

We know he is more than fly-fishing because as we learn from this enchanting poem, the trout turns in to a glimmering girl and calls him by name. Again if you get caught up in literal interpretations or come from a strict "religious"  back ground, you will be disappointed, that the fish did not turn into a tablet with the ten commandments etched in stone. I personally prefer the "glimmering girl," but if you need to hang on to that stone table, go ahead.

The poet then decides that, “Though I am old with wandering, through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone.”   As we read these words, we see a different set of spiritual values in the poet. He is not merely seeking a trout; nor a young woman for that matter. He is seeking “some-thing” else and he will seek this “though he is old with wandering.”  Many fly fishers never realize, that it is "some-thing" else they seek, while they fish.

As I sat, considering my own life and culture I realized that most often it seems to move at a cadence that is too fast to seriously probe the depths of the interior, poetic and mythological life. As I write, I realize that many of us do not have the time to even ponder several lines of poetry. We live in a different culture, demanding immediate gratification and information. As fly fishers, we often just want to know what fly works and where. Never mind this poetic nonsense. Spiritually, we  also, often want the simple, quick answers.

Sitting solitary in this Irish pub, without rush, I feel how this place, perhaps, this whole culture is more of a “thin place” than back home. Celtic spirituality speaks of “Thin Places,” those special places, often geographic, where, if we can find the right cadence and enter, we might be more vulnerable to the spiritual/poetic interior life.  Even the hotel we stayed at set the tone of a different set of values.  Across the hall from our room, the words “Yeats Suite,” were on the door. I wonder what percentage of the people of our culture ever heard of Yeats or could even recite a single line of poetry.  

It seems that much of the culture I come from in America is flat, void of depth, musing, and life. My culture feels “thick” with bland, rationality, literalism and is lacking myth, poetry, and magic.  In America, even the Christian church, often only parrots the shallow “answers,” rather than deeply pondering the questions.   

In Ireland, people speak of a whole other enchanting world of fairies and Hawthorne trees. These stories are so powerful that they have arrested housing and road developments, because some still fear the consequences of messing around with the spiritual world.  Apparently, in Ireland, you don’t mess around with a Hawthorne tree and the little fairies.  Roads have been diverted to go around certain Hawthorne trees out of respect to the "little people."

While touring down a narrow road along the green hillside the bus driver speaks of a leprechaun, he spied on the side of the road. He slows down to a stop. Caught up in the enchanting moment, I could not stop my rational mind from searching the area, quite extensively, I must confess, looking for “some-thing.”  I ask myself, what this is inside of me; perhaps all of us, that even as rational, adults, hopes to “believe” in more than the concrete, world around us.

Besides stories of enchanting fairies, trees and leprechauns, there is the story of the “Salmon of knowledge.”  Legend has it that whoever catches this fish gains wisdom and becomes (not a millionaire, a manager or a CEO), but rather the greatest poet in the land. The old stories in Ireland still reflect what they value. How sad that in corporate America, and even often  in our personal development, poetry and myth are, for the most part, not of value. We do not have a defining story.  

How sad that poetry and myth are not valued (let alone understood), in churches across the country. Could corporations and churches ever function at the slower cadence needed that would allow entrance into another world.  Could we slow down enough to deeply contemplate the meanings of whatever stories, myths, and poetry we still might posses?  How sad that Jesus spoke in poetry, parables, symbols, and paradox and we often fail to understand. How sad that the defining story here, is to consume and buy things.  What a tragedy that we lost our story that helps define who we are and explains our deep inner experiences of life,  including those while we fly fish.  

Yet, we do have some wonderful fly-fishing here and that art with the slower pace it demands, offers us some hope.  While fly-fishing with its own unique cadence, I think there are times we can possibly experience a “thin place” on our rivers. We can start by slowing down our cast to a slower cadence and regaining power, grace and art.  

As I walked the Dream Stream, yesterday I thought about my trip to Ireland and our different cultures. As I walked I slowed down my pace, carefully searching the water.  It was then that I saw a Brown, just down along a particular bend, big enough, to easily swallow a few leprechauns.  Perhaps some of you saw the same fish.  And, perhaps some of you, also, saw the leprechaun.

Regardless, at least you are looking and enchanted by the possibility.  It is a start and a possible way out of our flat culture and the flat culture of our churches.