Sunday, June 8, 2014
My feet are cold and move through the gin clear waters like two frozen cinderblocks attached to my hip with 2 x 4's. I try hard to stalk through the crunchy, brown, winter woods without the forest clearing THUD...THUD... of a city boy who, try as he may, only gets to spend as many days a year in the wilderness as he has numb and cracked fingers on his red, frozen hands. Moving quietly through the river is even more of a challenge with giant, Frankenstein-ian, week's salary gone, brand-name, all the doo-dads and technologically advanced, waterproof wading boots-that only serve to separate me from feeling the uneven and lively streambed. It's like being in a sensory deprivation tank from the waist down, and makes it hard to slip silently into the water as I crunch and bump my way up to the next hole. The fish are surprisingly not disturbed today, as it has been cold and snowy, and has cooled the river and filled it to it's banks. There's still several inches of snow on the north banks and ice collects on the fringe of tiny waterfalls. The fish are down deep, and nearly motionless. Later in the day the sun will warm the stream, and give insects a reason to live, as they emerge from the cold depths to sacrifice their short airborne lives with no thoughts but the survival of their offspring and their species. But, long before the insects rise, procreate, and fall in exhaustion to feed the awakened trout, I will be gone, not able to return for what always feels like an eternity. A previous engagement calls, as it always does. Life these days mostly seems like one previous engagement after another, with barely time to reflect before the next is due. They compound, and multiply, and procreate until life is nothing but a frenzy of previous engagements, one after the other, only relenting for so long to allow us to catch our breath enough to keep breathing.
Sort of... It's been nearly a year since I've set foot in this derilect single wide of personal expression that houses more than a few of my hopes and dreams. No doubt, they're stuffed into a twisted up hefty bag that's stuffed into the nether regions of the undercarriage of the leopard-print-duvet-covered waterbed that once was the master bedroom. Just four walls and the motion of the ocean...with leopards...Rrrrrroaaaaar. It's there. I generally know where it is. But, draining a waterbed, and dismantling a room is quite an undertaking, so there they've sat. Dusty. Rusting. Somewhat sad. But waiting. No other choice but to since they were trapped between 200 gallons of water, an 'oak' frame, and bags and bags, and bags, of cut-off jeans.
My life has changed significantly since I started this blog. The focus of my life has changed significantly since I started this blog. My near future looks exactly nothing like I thought it would just a couple of years ago. It's not necessarily negative or positive. It just is. It just is my life, and it just keeps happening to me no matter how defensive my posture is.
I love to fish and I love to tie flies. I don't love them as much as my family, which is why I've rarely done either for the shortest longest last year of my life. I have realized that although I've had lots of hobbies, or even hobbies masked as career pursuits, in the past that consumed all parts of me while in motion... I've realized that none of them stuck except for tying and fishing. I can't shake it. I'm far beyond the obsession I used to find myself buried in. Buried to the point that I couldn't focus on the truly important things. It's now decidedly a hobby, and one I pursue when the day is done, and the trash is taken out, and arrangements are made. That's my reality right now, and I happily accept that reality.
But that doesn't mean I can't tie flies and share them with the zero faithful followers of this waste of bandwidth that is BigFish Fly Shop. I do get to wet a line occasionally...here and there...sometimes. Maybe. So, I will share these things, why? I haven't a clue. But, share I will. Occasionally...here and there...sometimes. Maybe