Learning From Writing My Own Story

I learned a lot from writing my own fishing story titled Bringing Back Eden. I think it was worth the effort, even if not many read it.   

It took courage to put my thoughts down on paper. It took more courage to commit to placing those innermost thoughts into a book. It was humbling to consider the fact that most people would not want to read it, yet even more humbling that some people did read it and connected to my story.  

Soren Kierkegaard said “The crucial thing is to find a truth, to find an idea for which I am willing to live and die.” I have to get to the place where I hold to my ideas, my truth, and be willing to “die” for that truth.  If I take his comment symbolically it seems I have to be willing to believe in my own life story, my own ideas, even if it does not bring status or financial gain or so called “happiness”. This is not easy to do in a culture that highly values status, financial gain, and happiness.

When I first started writing people asked me, “Who is your audience? Who are you writing for? ” but, I could not respond. I could not answer. I just wrote what I had to say. I stuck to my truth.  And I knew I could not please everyone. In fact I knew I could perhaps only please a few, if anyone.  

I knew many of my Christian friends might be offended by my comments about the church.  I came right out and said I believe, in many cases, we would be better off on the river than being in church on Sunday morning.  I complained that often church is the last place to go with one’s own serious questions and struggle regarding the faith.  And God forbid if I disagreed with what was going on in church or what was being spoken. Could I dare raise my hand and politely share my truth?

At the same time I knew I could not please those who had little spiritual interest or commitment and who only wanted to know how to catch more and bigger fish. They might find all my “God talk” offensive. They might think I am crazy talking about loneliness, struggling to belong and the possibility of  a comforting angel.

My story presents Something in between these two poles. Somewhere in the middle of the river lies a large beautiful mysterious fish. The fish surfaces now and then but just as often, quickly vanishes. I think I see it but I am not sure. I have some skills but they are limited and the cast must be placed on a narrow seam line.

And sometimes I contemplate the amazing possibility if God, in some small way might help me bring a fish into my cluttered vision;  help me make a cast that brings that fish to my fly, and then, eventually into my hands that always grasp too tightly. 

This is an idea, a truth, for which I am willing, symbolically speaking, to die for.     

Fish that Matter the Most: Contemplating What Tugs

When I was younger and learning to fly fish many of the fish I caught meant a lot to me because I was learning new techniques and refining my skills.  If I fooled a fish on a tiny dry fly or a streamer fly, or if I caught fish using a particular fancy cast such as a reach-mend, and made the perfect drift, these fish had special meaning. I felt accomplished and I had a deep conviction that my new skills and techniques were the precise reason I caught fish.  

However, as I got older, it now seems that only a few fish really matter to me.  These are the fish that for a variety of reasons (and that I may only know), ended up on the end of the line when I was doing most things wrong (if not everything!) and I know the fish I “fooled” and that tugged on the line, had nothing to do with my skills.  In fact, at times I was not even paying attention. Such fish are humbling to me, and yet, now, bring me a greater satisfaction and meaning because such fish hint at something we might call “luck” or perhaps even something of God; which ironically, seems to be, not really about me.

The other fish that matters immensely to me is the one that gets away. This elusive fish is held in between my hands as I say, “It was this big”, and is somewhere in my heart and soul. Such fish stretch my imagination and give me hope that the elusive God I seek is not to be held or caught or controlled by my own effort or skill and is not to be grasped in my clingy hands.  

So, it is the fish that suddenly tugs when I am not doing much right, and the one that gets away, that reminds me that the best things that come to me in life are those that I know are gifts. Is there any greater satisfaction? 

When I wrote my fly fishing story, "Bringing Back Eden" I noticed that these were the fish that kept rising to the surface of my heart and mattered the most to me. 

Solitude on the Arkansas

My friend Steve in solitude on the "real" Ark.  Steve calls the middle/upper Arkansas River the "real" Ark as opposed to the busy tail-water lower down. For many of us fly fishers, fly fishing is about solitude (at least some of the time), which has become more and more a rare experience on our popular local tail- waters. Steve found solitude and some nice fish in the low clear water.

Florida Bass Pond

   On my 58th birthday I fly fished a bass pond in Florida and caught several nice fish. I felt like a 11 year old kid again, back at the pond of New Jersey. 

Is the Dream Stream Half Empty or Half Full?

There is that old question: Is the glass half empty or half full? Of course many people think we should see and experience life positively as being half full.  I am not so sure.  I relate this old proverbial phrase to the South Platte River; Is the Dream Stream half empty or half full?

I like to think about all the nice fish I have caught over the years on the Dream Stream.  I try not to lament too much about the good old days. However there does seem to be wisdom in looking back. It was Soren Kierkegaard who said, “Life can only be understood backwards but must be lived forwards.”  

I often think backwards and remember and try to understand.  I remember all the fish.  Therefore, I prefer to now state, it is half empty? I also prefer to ask why is it half empty?  What went wrong?  As I look forward, I consider if anything can be done?

However, if I focus on the river being half full (by continually claiming how great it is supposedly fishing), I may never imagine what it was like or what it could be in the future.  I may never imagine how full of fish it could be if we could see how empty it is and what it needs. We need to see and feel the emptiness.

How can I live forwards?  Can we Imagine how full of fish the Dream Stream could be if we . . .

Then even I, who most often sees the glass half empty, could see it being half full.

Does anyone have any suggestions on how we could make the river, genuinely half full again?

Just Observing: What Happened to Winter?

Coming back from Breckenridge over Hosier Pass I noticed runoff already coming down the north side. Water was racing down the side of the road and filling the Blue River. BRK ski area seemed a bit soft for this time of year. Ski conditions are marginal at best.

 I don't know my facts about weather and snow pack and average temperatures but it seemed odd. This is the middle of winter! Nor do I care to debate it especially with each side already having their feet encased in cement; or ice; or slush. 

Eleven Mile Reservoir has a lot of open water.  Some anglers are seeing big fish cruzing the edges. And of course the migration of big rainbows up into the Dream Stream has been underway for some time now. The crowds are pounding the river. 

It might just be an odd year. Or a new pattern. I do not know.

As an angler, I have my concerns. Some of my friends have their concerns about future water flows for the South Platte.

This morning, I gain a little bit of comfort seeing an inch or so of new snow on my deck in the foothills of Manitou.

I don't know. I am just observing.

Paying Attention to Something Else While Fly Fishing

When I fly fish I often pay attention only to the fish I am catching or not catching. This can get old, narrow and lifeless.

However, some of my friends I fish with help remind me there is Something else. This past week I fished with Cody, Steve and Karbo.

There are birds, bugs, sky, the different shades of light, meadows and mountains.  There are the storm clouds that try to gather over the peaks giving us hope that the Spring rains and snow will return.

There are the tiny midges trying to hatch in the cold and the fish that sluggishly try to eat them. There was the large rainbow that rose to a lone Blue Winged Olive Mayfly, but not again. There were the large rainbows and browns that took our fly but broke free.

There were our words exchanged in between casts. Words of longing and hope for a deeper richer life and for the upcoming fishing season.   These were words without complete rational understanding or expression,  yet indicating “Something” else;  Our friendships sustained in the midst of the cold currents and the dry mountain winds.