Looking Out

Well it's day, who knows how many days since the Corona virus took over our collective attention. Things have moved pretty fast, the world is in a most unusual state, fret and concern are likely for all of us today, no matter how hard we try to stay focused on positive thoughts, there will be at least a moment where reality says hello, and some type of worry will cross our minds. The trick is to not let worries set in.

This morning I woke up with it, angst. Things are changing, how will we keep up? Who knows? But we will, we always do, there's no other real choice but to press on and adapt as a society, as families, as individuals.

As I look out the window it occurs to me that the snow which has fallen overnight isn't any different than it was last week, or last month. It drifts into the same places I've seen it drift since we arrived here in Montana last summer. The crocus and lilies, responding to the warm spells we've experienced are peeking through the morning's snow. Neither the snow nor the spring plants are aware of what's going on in the human world. The birds, squirrels and rabbits are oblivious too, they care nothing for economies, possessions nor do they fret about death, they're just alive.

Gary, a friend who worked nearby, used to visit me every morning for a few years when I had a taxidermy business in Fort Worth. We would sit and drink coffee before the rest of the crew showed up and he would head to his job. He was a pleasant, older man, ready and about to retire at the time. Most mornings were filled with laughter and story telling. One morning Gary showed up uncharacteristically grumpy, unexcited about the project he was faced with for the day. The finches I kept in my office were being exceptionally chatty that morning, they got that way as soon as the light came on and the cage cover was lifted.

Gary kept staring at the finches, his facial expression alternating between joy and anger. Finally after only about 10 minutes, a third of our normal morning time he stood up, look at me, looked back at the cage full of excited little birds and said "those damn things sure are happy this morning" gave a long pause fighting back what I imagine were a few choice words.

As he headed for the exit he turned and said "It's because they don't have to go to damn work."

The next day Gary showed up and apologized for letting, what he called work worry, get the best of him. "No problem" was my reply. I was thinking I wish I possessed his self-control.

He went on to explain his philosophy of getting through tough days. It involved looking beyond immediate worries to focus on the long-term, big picture, and that in the end we all meet the same final fate on earth. The jest of his philosophy is that as long you're still alive, you haven't met your end. Then he paraphrased, or more correctly butchered this quote.

"Everything will be okay in the end. If it's not okay, it's not the end." a quote often attributed to John Lennon. Not sure if he did say that, it sounds like him, but we can't ask because he's no longer with us. It's a good quote that sprung up a few years ago in a movie, The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel.

I lost touch with Gary about 20 years ago. I was busy going to damn work everyday, just trying to survive in a world moving too fast. I didn't think much of it at the time though that morning is firmly etched in my mind.

Now, looking out the window at the morning snow, I wonder if Gary is still going to damn work everyday.

Patience

Sitting near the campfire near one of America’s 100 top trout streams I can hear the river bubbling in the quiet of dusk, at least when the fire isn’t crackling. It’s been days since I have been able to hit the water and oddly enough I’m quite content with that. There was a time when it would have driven me nuts to be so close to a wonderful trout stream day after day and not be standing in it fishing.

Admittedly the weather has been an issue with torrential rains a couple of days that turned the river to something resembling chocolate milk. But there have been more days when it’s been just enough to sit and watch and listen. Bird watching has never been much of an amusement for me but the Mountain Jays, Common Sparrows, Northern Flickers, occasional hawks and other assorted unnamed birds have kept me quite occupied lately.

Until this morning we were setup in a campsite not 20 feet from the river but had to relocate due to booking our stay too late. From there I was able to sit at any time and watch the tiny brown trout parr feeding constantly. It makes me wonder how they ever collect enough calories to grow with the energy they expend jumping clear of the water to feed on the minute insects that inhabit this section of the river. However they do it seeing the number of parr in the river gives me hope for the future of the fishery here.

A couple of evenings I have donned my Vedavoo slingpack and walked a short section of the bank just downstream from the bridge that divides the campground. The rocks stacked along the banks to prevent erosion are pretty easy to walk even for a gimp like me. When the water is clear I can cast small dry flies along the current seams or around the larger rocks on the river bed and watch the trout rise to my fly. The trout here get fished over constantly and even the tiniest of them become very discerning- if you can say that about a trout –about what they take for food. Just as often as not they rise, follow and refuse my offerings. Other campers watch from the bridge or the walking path behind me and always politely inquire as to “how I’m doing”.

“Delightful” is my standard reply. How else could I be standing on the banks of a beautiful Rocky Mountain stream less than 100 yards from where our rolling house is parked? Some of the more serious inquirers, invariably men, request fish counts, and want to know what fly I’m using. I never give too many details and try to keep my answers simple, not because I enjoy being coy it’s just that at times like these it just really doesn’t matter. There are plenty of times when the size, fish count and size of the catch matters this however is not one of those times. In all the years we have been coming here I’ve never hooked anything over 10” in this little stretch of river. The times for specific flies, intense concentration and fish counts I save for the stretches of river that have been discovered over the years.

I did get out to one of those places last Friday. I won’t say where it is because some things are far better left unknown to the masses even on well-known rivers. I few years back I made the mistake of posting a photo that showed a location on a certain “Gold Medal” water. Along with the photo I told of the trout I had landed, the flies used and of a very large rainbow that took me for all I had. When I returned a few days later I couldn’t even find a place to park near that section of the river. My lesson has been learned. I did write an article on this river for SW Fly Fishing magazine but as anyone who does that sort of thing knows you tell the readers how to get here. What flies to bring and let them sniff out the secrets for themselves. It has to be that way or every good hole on every river ever featured would be over-fished. But I digress…..

The point is that in over a week of being next to this beautiful river I’ve been out for one afternoon in serious fishing mode, something that has seldom come natural in the past. That state does seem to come more often these days though. Sharon has even mentioned how calm I have been without having to be on the water every minute the weather is cooperating. I would like to think that it’s a state that comes with age, countless hours on the water and who knows how many fish landed or lost. I count the fish that have openly refused my offerings in that number also. They “refusers” used to be the one that haunted me the most. Now I think of them as the ones that have taught me the most. I have to admit that not being quite as steady on the rocks as I used to be may have something to do with it to some extent.

I guess the progress of my fishing life is no different than so many others, not surprisingly all of a certain age I have met or read about. Those first few times out with a fly rod we’re just happy to be outside with a rod in hand experiencing nature in a manner where just catching a fish is a bonus. Later on, once a few fish have been landed we just want to catch more than the time before. Then the search for big fish, then many big fish consumes our attention until eventually the urge to catch every big fish in a lake or river is something akin to insatiable. Somewhere in there we forget to look up at the Osprey soaring overhead or the deer walking the bank. The colors of the trees don’t even register and the bankside flowers go completely unnoticed. Damn the weather, damn the chores and at some point work be damned I’m going fishing. Jobs and families have been forfeited by some just to catch more fish. I once quit one and took another job 2,500+ miles away just so I could fish a famous lake. It’s not something I’m proud of now although I was at the time.

Eventually most of us fanatical anglers learn that it’s okay just to be an angler. I like to think that with age and experience I have acquired a sense of patience, something like coming full circle. An afternoon watching the parr feed with total abandon is satisfying in a different way but still completely satisfying. I don’t think there will ever come a time when I won’t long to be near the water yet for today it is more than enough.

I almost forgot to mention that last Friday went pretty well. I landed quite a few trout on a fly I’ve been tinkering with for a few years now just for this river. There was even a pair of fairly good sized cutthroats. Satisfaction!