Irish Tea and Soft Hackles

My River

The river is ours to share. This article is more of a feeling than a statement. You can own the river too.

The fly line slices through the fog like a knife through butter as the fly silently lands inches in front of the rise. As the soft hackle sinks through the film, a streak of rainbow tinted steel swiftly bolts to make the take. My reflexes cause me to lift the rod, feeling the sudden tug of a trout on. A satisfied smile crosses my face as a feeling of superiority surges through my thoughts. Forming a fly from small bits of hair, feathers and a hook to take a fish is a thrill reserved for the chosen few.

I look around. No one is there to share in my experience. It is one that I will keep to myself for words would fail weakly in expressing the feeling. I look around again, this time taking in what nature offers me. The blue heron perched on the rock upstream grudgingly shares his territory as he patiently hunts for supper. He and I watch upriver as a doe magically crosses the river while dusk closes down upon us. I feel united with my surroundings as I'm drenched in the mystical song of the whippoorwill.

I own the river. For now, it is my domain. I'm fishing alone. Another person arriving at this moment would be an intrusion. My mind has adjusted to the loneliness of the evening. It is a selfish feeling, but one I enjoy. Finally, I catch the fish that completes my satisfaction. He glides gracefully into the water of the early night as I softly release him. It is enough. I reel my line in and head to the bank. My ride home will be slow and relaxed for I am at peace with myself. Like the sun, the cares of the day have faded away. It is a special feeling.

I wish I could share it with you.

thoughts by Johnny McJunkins

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