Images of colors become flashes of hallucinogenic images. Images that began as a budding idea that pierced the veil of reality. A thought incidentally walked through the portal to become what we know now as a memory. Maybe it was real, maybe it was just a figment of your imagination. In our hearts we know it happened, but the insane also believe their memories are truth. It is a shame that memories are not tangible. Pictures might just be a white sheet of paper that our mind paints to be an image of the past, or maybe we just portray that to the outer world. Who really knows?
There is a specific place that contains many of my memories. Ones that stand stagnant in a pool awaiting my arrival. Like old friends, crossing that threshold where the memory began, I smile. It is an acknowledgment of sorts, as well as a respectful admiration. Driving along the river, I slipped in and out of reality. Those hallucinogenic thoughts being revisited, if they ever really happened in the first place. The salad bag, the thin ice, the lost fish, the island, the slow day that Sanders broke the silence, the cutthroats, the shared beers and cigars, the carp, the stone, the massive hatch, the jerk, and my first Elevenmile Brown are just a few. The things that happened on this day were a culmination of all of those, small reminders of those big memories.
Wading the river, the many thoughts found there way in. I spun a web as if it were through the act of casting, catching drifting memories as well as fish. This river, an old familiar friend, somehow spoke. We communicated through our silent connection, laying line out on the water as she moved it in directions she wanted it to go. A dance of mending, casting, and moving. I was alone on the river, we bonded. As we spoke, she told me of a memory to come. Throughout the day she showed me images of the present that became the inspiration to write of the past today, which is now gone. She holds them there now, within her canyon walls, always awaiting my return.
September 7th, 2012 at 1:30 am
“Catching drifting memories as well as fish.” Beautifully written. When I’m on the river it’s a journey into my mind and past times revisited.. Even when fishing new water, I find there are wispy, dream-like memories waiting for me to pull them to the surface once again.
September 7th, 2012 at 8:54 am
…and sometimes they rise to a hatch we never see.
September 7th, 2012 at 8:44 am
“…images of the present that became the inspiration to write of the past today, which is now gone.” Perfect, my friend. Perfect.
September 7th, 2012 at 12:04 pm
There are many more days to come with memories in the making. As always, many thanks for reading and the kind words.
September 7th, 2012 at 12:34 pm
“…an old familiar friend, somehow spoke. We communicated through our silent connection, laying line out on the water as she moved it in directions she wanted it to go.”
What a great piece…even if I did break the silence 🙂
September 7th, 2012 at 8:52 pm
Breaking the silence was good on that trip! Thanks Sanders!
July 23rd, 2013 at 11:51 pm
Just discovered this blog and wow man, keep up the great work. It’s awesome how you put this amazing addiction that is fly fishing into such great stories
July 23rd, 2013 at 11:53 pm
Just discovered this blog. Hope you keep up the posts man, fly fishing is the best addiction and you show and tell great stories
July 23rd, 2013 at 11:55 pm
Thank you. I’m trying to keep the posts coming, but work is really starting to wear on my blog. Once the guiding season dies down, I’ll return. In the mean time, I’ll do my best. Thanks for taking some time to read.