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Sometimes it's not about the fishing

I had to get away. In a period of two hours, I found out that one of our guides had an accident that morning. Another of the boys reported he may have lost a long time client on his guiding gig, on a day that just didn't go as well as it could have. Then my sweet wife walks in and says her doctor check-up didn't go so well. It may be back.

Even as I have two fisheries project write-ups to finish before deadline, and two of the three guides out fishing to coordinate, I desperately needed to find some quiet time. I told my wife the next morning that I was headed to the river for a few hours on my own. She didn't even say anything. She already knew.

A long time client has a cabin up on the Stilly, North Fork. I figured I would see if a late running summer steelhead was hanging around. The time on the river would do me good.

There was frost on the fallen leaves as I pulled into his driveway. It was a bustling 31 degrees on this foggy morning. I didn't care that the water would probably be too cold to rise a steelhead.. I strung up my 6 wt. and a floating line. If I was going to fish by myself, I wanted to do it my way. I greased up the dry fly. I would fish the surface.

I didn't recognize the other car in Bill's driveway, but I suspected it was his son. The frost on the windshield said he likely came in the night before.

It was still early so I slipped my waders on, and walked directly to the river. No reason to wake anyone in the house. Besides, I really wasn't up for pleasantries.

The Stilly was running low and clear. A few Chum Salmon were spawning along the shallows. Fall colors were doing their thing.

The setting was just stunning as the sun poked it's way through the morning fog. I didn't hardly notice, let alone, care. I was feeling sorry for myself.

Casting and stepping down, I worked my way through the pool My waker danced gently in the currents. I nestled deeper in my poly & fleece. I had to admit. It was cold but good to be out.

A hen Chum poked her nose up in midstream to take a look at the Skater but she didn't eat. That's OK. I wasn't really wasn't looking for a fight, anyway. I didn't even do a follow-back presentation. Besides, I saw the fish. It wasn't a steelhead.

I happened to notice Bill junior up on his lawn burning leaves. He waved, I waved back.

"Dennis, is that you?" He called.

"Yeah, Bill, it's just me." I answered.

"Where are your people? Never seen you fish out on your own". He inquired.

"No clients today, Bill. Had a tuff day yesterday, figured I owed myself a time-out".

He paused his raking for moment.

"You all right?", He asked. He meant it.

"OH, I'm OK, but thanks for asking." I answered. I was a little embarrassed that I had mentioned a problem.

I finished the pool as my toes were beginning to feel the tingle of the cold water. Those silly salmon have waited their whole life to have sex and they now have to do it in the cold. They seemed oblivious.

I reeled up and hiked my way past his burning pile. Bill was off somewhere. I began to undress back at the truck. I don't fish that well when I am distracted, but it felt that getting a fish this morning was somehow beside the point. Here it was, a lovely November morning on the river, and I still wasn't in the mood to enjoy it. Stupid me.

I had just put my waders and gear away in my 4-Runner, when Bill came around the house. He didn't even ask me how the fishing was. Somehow I liked that.

"Sorry to hear about your wife," he stated quietly. "Hope she is all right".

"I lost my mother and a stepmother both to cancer." I mentioned. "It's the not knowing that gets you at this stage".

"Funny how we both ended up here at the cabin for our time-out". He said.

"Oh?" I asked.

"Yeah, my own family is struggling right now. I got this pace maker put in my chest a while back. The drugs they give me get me so wired, I come up here after a dosage so my family doesn't have to deal with me with all my hormones gone wack."

I just looked on. I couldn't help but notice Bill isn't much older than I am. Reality set in.

"I haven't been able to work for over a year, now". Bill confessed. "This old cabin each weekend has become my get-away." There was a twinge of desperation in his voice.

I just watched him.

"Listen to me," he apologized. "Guys are dying in war, the news is riddled with hatred and depression, and here I am, complaining about me".

" I think the news media should give equal time to happy news." I mused.

Bill agreed.

"You ever listen to country music?", Bill asked.

"I try not to," I blurted, then retreated. "But I have noticed the new soft rock and country music are quite similar now days."

He began to tell me about a story of country singer, Alan Jackson. How Alan ran out of gas one day out fishing. An old man came up and gave him gas to get back to the dock. Apparently when Alan tried to pay him, the old man just shook him off,
"Nope, the old man said, it's what being human is all about."
The next morning the old gentleman woke up to find a brand new boat & trailer in his driveway. On the steering wheel was a simple note that said,'
"Thanks Man." Signed Alan Jackson.

I thanked Bill for the fine story, but mostly for taking the time. I wished him luck on his health and he wished the same for my wife.

As I drove back to Arlington, I found myself smiling. Sometimes, it's not about the fishing.

Best of fishing,

Dennis