The wind caused me to choose a slightly heavier fly rod. It was the first time I used it after it was gifted to me from the hands of an experienced and well-traveled fly fisher. I stripped line off the reel, did a slow backcast, paused for the loop to unroll and then sent the …
It became more just wading up the small creek rather than constantly seeking another small pool to cast into. Occasionally, I’d unhook the nymph and let it and the dry fly move through the air, but really I was just enjoying the profound beauty of the mist, the light rain, rushing water, and moss-covered rocks. …
My bones remember Oneness as they move over ancient moss-covered rocks, through clear, rushing water. Space within me becomes everything reflected in the quiet, still pool or the bright eye of the swimming trout. Each cell mirrors the gnarled roots reaching, drinking deeply and branches soaring, dancing into blue sky. If I looked for a …
The pressure of flowing water pushed against my legs as recent rains moved from higher elevations down through the creek to larger rivers. I stood in the 46 degree water, in waders, watching the fly slowly recirculate in the eddy, enjoying the embrace of the creek. It had been a month since my last fly …
The River knows exactly how to be itself. It doesn’t need to think about its purpose or life mission. It simply surrenders, each moment, to the path before it. It doesn’t fret over which way to go, which turn to take. It follows the flow of its own strength, whether a small trickle or a …