It was several years ago I discovered a new realm of my fly fishing experience and several worlds begun to collide as my hobby gave me back what my heart wanted all along.
This seemed like a typical day on my beloved Tuolumne river with the familiar pleasing vision of water gently cascading over large granite boulders covered in dried stone fly carcasses. A gentle breeze trickled through the tall pine refreshing me with the fresh scent of mountain sweetness and cooling the damp sweat beneath my fly vest as we hiked to my favorite haunts.
As the evening would soon be approaching I had to plan out a dinner menu for my young friend and fishing companion who trailed close by the river with me. I had released several small trout already and forgotten about the fact that I had no food back at the cabin and the small town’s market would be closed when we returned. This portion of the river remains to be stocked with rainbow trout so I didn’t feel bad about keeping one to make some fish tacos.
Patrick who accompanied me had thus far merely observed with little interaction on the water and I felt a nudge to depart from my own self absorbed hunt to coach him briefly. Tall and unfamiliar with the careful wading in low flow rates of the early Fall I thought, “how am I going to get him in a place where the fish won’t spook, the trees won’t capture his line Or tall stature, and how even if he will have any luck?”
After careful attention to detail I left Patrick in about 8″ of riffle with instruction to roll cast upstream into a seam pushing against an 8 foot boulder where I believed the pocket of deep water in the shadow of the rock would hold a fish. I also reminded him to let the cast finish it’s sweep behind him into a log with another possibility for a catch. Once Patrick made several successful casts I went upstream about 20 yards to continue our search for dinner.
Within several minutes I heard Patrick exclaim, “I got one!” I tried to ignore what I first believed to be an exaggerated proclamation of an inexperienced angler when a second urgent call came. “Bring the net! I caught dinner!” I then dropped my rod and flew back through the river’s edge of thick brush to watch exactly what was happening. It didn’t take long to see that Patrick had hooked a beautiful specimen of a trout and was being extremely careful not to allow the fish to dive under the log or race under the boulder. He was fighting him perfectly and I began to instruct him to glide the nearly exhausted fish into the shallow water. A couple short runs gave us a scare and then we were able to land him into the safety of the net.
The excitement in Patrick’s countenance, the thrill of the moment and the rush of adrenaline that we experienced together made me realize how important this time was for us. I believe fly fishing to be an incredible opportunity to experience the beauty and majesty of God’s landscape while the hypnotizing motion of the rod over the river’s current to be the most peaceful demonstration of art in the world. Yet today was different. Today my art became Patrick’s art. A piece of my life was shared and that combined pleasure of selflessness in a typical self absorbed arena of my own became vicariously engulfed by his enthusiasm. I had an epiphany that this is how my life is meant to be lived. To be shared. To give of what God has given to me. It is His pulse and is in defiance of my self centered nature. And this has become my life…to give. Tight Lines in His grace! PM
