Snow Storm: A Pure Event

There is something about a snow storm that is pure. It has no motive. It does not want anything from us. It is a pure event.

It just falls and blankets everything. It covers the trees and hillsides.  It covers and quiets our messes and dramas. For a moment, the storm dominates and all is silent.  A pure silence.  A pure event.

I remember as a child being in that pure silence under the snow in the early morning. I remember my disdain when the plow trucks came and disrupted my world. Then the snow became dirty and noise entered my once quiet and pure world.  TV’s and radios blaring. Voices complaining about the snow.

But for now, the storm continues to drop snow on us. The city is frozen. Everything shuts down.  We are suspended above all our work and responsibilities. We can float, just like the snowflakes into a pure event; the pure existence of  simply being.

Cheesman Canyon Trout Picky All Day

The trout in Cheesman Canyon are of an abstemious nature.  They were picky all day.  There was no magic fly. A fish here and a fish there. One on a egg, three on a brown worm, a few on a black beauty and one or two on a zebra midge. But what a beautiful place. And what great company to be with friends trying to entice the wary fish.

These fish teach me about life. They teach me about my life. Perhaps I am the one who is picky and ultra selective. I often complain about not being able to connect well to people. Perhaps, like the fish, this is just my nature. However when I do connect with fish and others, it is a wonderful experience deeply appreciated.

I try not to blame others when I do not connect just as I try not to blame the fish. But of course I still do. Rather than pointing the finger at the fish or people in my life I think I should make adjustments within myself.  I can change my rig. I can change flies, use lighter tippet and make better presentations. But I can only change so much. At some point I need to accept that this is the nature of these fish.  I need to personally realize who I am.  In my own relationships, I need to accept the nature of others and not try to change them. In the end, perhaps I need to learn to accept others and myself at a deeper level and learn that the fish that was not caught was no one's fault. I can just be who I am and let the fish be who they are and let others be how they are.   

I guess there are many people who relate and connect well to large numbers of  different kinds of people. Business minded individuals should be this way. Guides, in all their different forms should be this way. However, I am not so sure about myself and how I relate regardless of what might seem to be common sense.

While I do not consider myself a poet I do have a poetic personality type which most often does not help matters. Often idealistic, melancholy and deep, I tend to be disappointed. I relate better with people who think and feel life deeply and know something of the sadness of life. It is not easy for me to sit around and drink merrily discussing the superficial. Those who are honest with me will tell me, that I am, "Too deep, too heavy and too intense," and that I need to lighten up.  

But once in a while a fish takes the fly and I connect. Once in a while I deeply connect to others as I did this day in Cheesman Canyon.

The fish are selective and so am I. As Emily Dickinson says,

"The soul selects her own Society-
Then- shuts the Door-
To her divine Majority-
Present no more-"

Deckers Emerging Into Spring

The South Platte River at Deckers is trying to emerge into Spring even under a gray sky. Midges are appearing and some fish are beginning to rise. The Blue wings have not appeared yet for the most part. But in the meantime, fishing small black beauties to the suspended fish is effective. When in doubt go smaller. And I hate to mention this but if they still refuse, try 7X tippet.

How many did we catch? Enough.

Father Daughter Bonding at Deckers Fly Fishing

One of the most rewarding guide trips for me is to help a father and daughter create fly fishing memories together. With the warm weather lately, the fishing has been great. Feels like summer. Fish are taking San Juan Worms and midges.

I Need To Change My Life: Fly Fishing A River Offers An Opportunity

The great German speaking poet, Rainer Maria Rilke concluded one of his poems with the statement, “I need to change my life.”  The line comes out of nowhere.  It is a powerful conclusion and a proclamation stating a frustration with life that emanates from the poets own inner being.   And it also strikes a chord deep inside my soul.

I wonder if this sense of wanting my life to change in some deep manner is simply a part of the existential human condition.  Is it normal to struggle with angst, meaninglessness and the feeling that life remains unfulfilled?  It seems to me that no matter what I obtain and no matter how much success I achieve there is still something elusive that remains just out of casting range of the rivers I fish.  There is always the fish that gets away.

My fly fishing world of river, rock and sky, provides a wonderful place for me to wrestle with these questions and the existential struggles of life. My guess is that there are many people out there who at least feel some of the frustration and want their life to change. However, I think many remain silent. After all, aren’t we supposed to be happy and fulfilled?  But suppose if we are not?

I prefer not to pretend and just go along and smile.  I, like the poet, want to make that proclamation, “I need to change my life.”  I want to change my life and take steps to make that happen, even if I do not know the first step. Perhaps, I can at least start by saying a firm no, to those paths I intuit as being a distraction.  

Forget therapy. Forget the pills. I don’t need a drink. Forget all the electronic connections I can make via the social media world. And I don’t need to go to church.

Sometimes, I just need to stand on the banks of a river and cast, even knowing that some fish will always elude me.

Change Your Life Through Fly-Fishing

Dream Stream: Remembering Our Youth

It was cold in South Park on the Dream Stream looking for big fish. Felt cold with each step as we walked along the fence down to the river. Or maybe it was not all that cold; But rather we were not that tough anymore.

We started talking about our younger days.  Jim at 79 recalled a picture of his youth. He told me how surprised he was at how muscular he appeared as though he did not recognize himself. He said, “I never knew how strong I was back then.”

We walk on. My old knee injury aching as I ponder.

I (about to turn 57) shared with Jim how when I look back over the past decades, sometimes I am not quite able to recognize myself.  I feel confused as to who I was at various stages of my life but not just physically; It was more.  How I thought, what I believed, how I related to others and how I acted. 

Who was that back then? Who was that younger man walking the Dream Stream with stronger strides and confident hope (and sometimes arrogance) of catching fish.

The wind picks up from the north and chills our fingertips even while wearing big ski mittens.  The cold wind bites through us and intimidates.  I am not feeling very confident of enduring the cold, let alone trying to make a good cast to a large finicky trout. 

Over the wind, Jim paraphrases a quote by Rohr, “You need to remember who you were before you became you.” Before I became me?  What was he talking about?  Jim and I have a way of talking about such deep things when we fish. 

Who was I before I became me?  Maybe I need to think of the young man I was in innocence before life and the world hardened me and wore me down. Who was I before I put on various masks, that have now grown old and brittle and fallen off.

We step into the chilly river with ice along the edges. We make some casts and drifts as I daydream back to my youth and a pond where I taught myself to fly fish.

As a child, I remember in solitude walking the pond and casting to large fish forever hopeful that a fish would take my fly.  Forever hopeful; in spite of being ignored for hours without a turn of a fish. I can almost remember the intensity of that hope as I watched the beautiful forms moving below the surface. The intense longings for not only the fish, but for love, meaning, and connection.  An intensity that told me I was alive.

A longing of such intensity that I now wonder, if such hope, like a prayer, can turn not only a fish, but also, even the heart of God.