Teanaway Night

I can smell the fresh cut alfalfa.  The pines in the air.  Someone else is driving for a change. There is unfamiliar but vibing music drowning out the sounds of the windows being down driving the Teanaway road. 

The guardrail is too close to the road.  More of a hindrance than anything when towing a boat trailer. I lost an oarlock to it once. Little too close.

I’ve been okay.  In good company, guiding, and camping with close friends and others. I’ve met new people, connected with other anglers.  I’ve been stopped in camp and humbled by other anglers coming up to me.  I’ve spent time fishing for myself, and sharing the river with others…off the clock.  I’ve been shown new water. I’ve been back and shared places here in the Teanaway that I love and cherish. I’ve been invited to fish all over from others. And been put in others’ plans to fish and share rivers. It’s still overwhelming. The impact the fly fishing community has is always something I felt was home.  And having others remind me of my impact hits me every time.

I can feel the cool summer air tug at my beard. Filled with scents of peppermint and campfire. My body aches from guiding. My hands are beat up and calloused. Tanned and dry. My body is getting wiry and the aches are from the change. It feels good not to drive. The music changes to a more mellow tune. The sun gone, stars just poking out. That lime green and blue hue just on the horizon, tall trees silhouetted against the dusk. My favorite. Tis when the river finally sleeps, the night critters come out, and campers fall off to sleep. I share a fire most nights, with wonderful company and in good spirits, or deep conversation, or maybe drinking and talking fish and silly things.

The crickets sing, a generator mumbles yonder, here in the Teanaway. The fire cackles and cracks. A Rainer or two is passed around. A good conversation starts up, stars are watched, laughs and a tear here and there are shared. Connections are made over fire, a beer, a bowl, a smoke, and life happening and being here and now for it. Shit doesn’t last forever, and the world off river is kinda fucked. There’s another day of fishing on the morn, and the sun wakes us camplife and angler people up with the rest of the river and forest.

I’ll see ya riverside anglers.

Tamarack

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