The Borders of Things

Fly-fishing

I really love fly-fishing. This weekend, while the world raged, people suffered, a chief justice died, and somebody's favorite sport's team lost again, I went camping in Powell, Idaho with my wife's family.

Did I feel guilt? Of course. But I realized that there was nothing further I could do right now to change in one iota anything that was happening. In the future, yes. But now was a time to camp and . . . fish.

I don't think I have fished for trout in over two years. That's probably the longest stretch since I was 12. I don't even have my fishing equiptment with me here in Seattle -- most of it is back in Pittsburgh. But knowing we would be near cutthroat trout waters, I asked my father-in-law Martin if he could bring fly rods and reels. I stopped and got some flies and other necessities in Missoula.

Martin not only brought equiptment, he had a gift for me when we arrived at the campsite. It was a fifty-five year old split bamboo flyrod that had been owned by Martin's step-grandfather and had never been fished before. Martin graciously gave this rod to me, as he didn't fish very often and he wanted it to be used.

So there I was, with vintage equiptment, on a stream in the mountains of Idaho. The first day was kind of a disappointment, as I was still trying to figure out where the fish were. But the second day, I caught about a half-dozen beautiful native fish, including one that was 15 inches long. It was a great day.

And now I am back at my work, back to the world, back to the chaos and conflict we all have to live with. But I feel better. I feel ready.

Posted by pjaussen at September 6, 2005 09:16 AM | TrackBack