Breathe

I was looking through some pictures of my recent trip back to Colorado and one of them struck me. Yes, I have flood pictures, but that's not what caught my attention. The pictures I was looking through were from the first weekend, before all the floods. The picture isn't anything great. It's a little out of focus, not real colorful. Then again I'm in it so there's that.

What I find myself focusing on is the river. This is my kind of water. Every angler gets to a point in their angling "career" where they realize what sort of fishing is like breathing for them. I can go catch try to catch carp, bass, pike where available, and I can usually catch trout in most any water big or small. But small pocket water I breath. I know where to position myself, I know how to make the short cast under that limb with the overhanging trees above me, and I know that there will be a fish in that dinner plate sized pocket. Oh, and I know that I'll catch it. I did not consciously study these things and I don't usually think about them on the water. I just know them.

While fishing with my dad and a friend Rich, my dad snapped this picture of me fishing. And I feel like it sort of sums up my natural fishing instincts. Unfortunately for my dad and Rich, when you don't think about the details of what you're doing, you make for a lousy teacher and your pupils don't catch a ton of fish. But I sure had a great time and just a brief week later I find myself longing for those waters. I'm afraid they may be the love of my life.

My heaven will be an infinite stretch of river, just like this, full of big trout. I will fish pocket to pocket to pocket, only stopping occasionally to look around at the canyon walls and take a quick sip from the crystal clear blackness. The river never widens and never peters out, just goes on forever carving its way through the canyon creating a million little pockets waiting to be picked. There's something big hiding in each one.

And I know I'll catch a nice fish on the next cast.