I sit fireside/riverside on a late spring afternoon. No trout will be caught today as the faint patter of rain lightly sounds throughout the dry leaves and nettles of the woods. A riffle is in front of me and a large pool just below. I watch from my resting place below a small pine tree and wonder at the trouts living under the currents.
I add some fuel to my eager and sputtering fire. The wood is damp and smells of what home is for me. It’s quiet. The rain is subsiding now. The afternoon is late and I do not yet wish to venture back to civilization.
The warmth of the smoldering wood soothes my soul…absolutley. Amazing how such a simple and primal thing calms and brings me back to some ancient peace. Much the way a cutthroat does when I share a moment with one eager enough to take my fly.
I enjoy a smoke and peruse my fly box, secretly admiring my creations and imitations. The March Browns and Green Drake dry fly patterns are my particular favorite for this time of year. I ponder the many times I have sat as I am now, and reflect on what such moments have done for me in my life. From the fires I’ve made, to the trouts I have chased. The disappointments, set backs, bullshit, and hullabaloo that had been a constant in my adult life is gone now. I have found what it means to be alive. Content and awake to the world.
A Skwalla flaps near the rivers edge. I take a moment to watch it flutter down river hoping a trout decides to make it a later afternoon snack. I grab my fly rod and sling on my satchel, grabbing a fly from my box, I make my way to the pool below me. A few casts and no takers…I’ll venture back to the car…at my leisure, taking a few casts at every fishy seam and boulder I come across.