This kind of sums up my feeling about fly fishing and being in places wild fish live.
“By such a river it is impossible to believe that one will ever be tired or old.” I’m not sure we make our own reality, but here, in this place, I’m both an old man and young again; my body sick but my spirit soars. Wallace Stegner.
https://www.tu.org/blog-posts/voices-from-the-river-the-next-new-normal
Voices from the River: The next new normal
By James Brozo
Diagnosed as I am with stage four prostate cancer, how to use my last 11 good months?
I am brashly claiming fun can be had wrestling with a question that has no adequate answer. The turmoil keeps your mind occupied and your creativity attuned.
For example, last year I lost the ability to rock hop. No longer able to jump from one rock to another was a big loss for this fly fisherman. Try weaving your way along a stream without surprising multiple rock hopping opportunities. A potential “soul boing” for one who once rock hopped like a Russian ballerino holding a sky hook. Where’s the fun when that is gone?
Well, it’s all in the “new normal” approach to life and the time they say you have left. I offer you my new normal rules for trout fishing:
Recalibrate your search for the best spot. My son, Gil, likes to rock climb – to boulder, specifically. I’ve sat on the mat in the climbing gym and watched him choose and execute routes by color and difficulty. Fly fisher people do something similar when faced with a phalanx of truck-sized boulders while seeking the reward of fishing deep green pools running slow but steady between smoothly-tumbled stone toes. Now I drive by those river sections. They look like too-soon tombstones. Fish what’s in front of you and admire what you would have once waded to.
Yes, if you’re stream weaving, you’re wading. Without the rock hopping gene, wading can stumble into flailing splashes that end up with your butt in stream-side brush and your glasses awash in droplets that turn the world into rainbow-like prisms. Whoa. Whoa! WHOA!! You cry out as you fling your pole to the bank and search out the least-damaging landing for your derriere. If you’re lucky, you flump down—alert and with all appendages functioning and, consequently, re-committed to Rule No. 2 with a whispered prayer of thanks to the god above.
And what's Rule No. 2? Enjoy where you are. It is early. Sun is up but the river canyon is still in shadow. Around a corner on the dustless dirt road, four turkey vultures blocked my way. I stopped and watched them one by one spread their wings in five foot “M” shapes, basking in sunlight that beamed across the road. From a large flat rock with a shallow wash of clean running water, they splashed and rinsed and picked off bits from their plumes. Two long hops later they were splayed in nature’s quickest feather dryer. I thought about what was left in the water after a turkey vulture bath.
Downstream I caught and released six nice browns. Temper the “upstream” urge. Adopt an accessible standard. It must be written somewhere that the best fishing is upstream because all American fisher people always end up upstream looking for the big trout and the best water. I gleefully discovered the meaning of "accessible" by upgrading to a Subaru Forester with an 8.72-inch bottom clearance. Now I can drive almost every road in the South Platte drainage—all those except the ones that have the message “Category Four—Most Dangerous” cut by an acetylene torch into a 1-inch flat slab of stock steel mounted on 3-inch pipes driven deep into the shoulder of the road. Rugged ridges, steep canyons, and paths that fade into game trails keep me honest. Please test this wisdom by fishing where you can accessibly get to and I predict you will find joy and fulfillment.
Now I drive roads for the adventure and fish for the pleasure. Wear a diaper. Let’s get over it – that’s what a Depends is. This is a rule birthed from my unique perspective on aging – use it before you need it. For example, I happen to know that those electric grocery carts can be quite touchy. You can seriously damage an errant four-year-old. Anyway, at least consider adding a few * diapers to your gear. Your attitude toward this rule may be an inaccurate measure of how far down this aging road you’ve traveled. Make up your own mind. Let me tell you though, it’s a relief when the urge strikes and it’s not a problem.
We might as well take care of the other tough rules right now since I just finished writing about whizzing while fishing. Lower your expectations. American fly fishermen have a very difficult time with this one. A retired Marine Corps friend once defined a good day fishing by the number caught and released and by fish photos arranged by length and girth. Sadly, he rebroke his previously war-wounded leg clambering over a wet log. Eighteen months later he has finally been successfully refitted with his third prosthesis. Now he is a teacher and mentor for a Montana Open Waters fly fishing chapter. Expectations can be a real earwig in the heads of aging fly fishermen. One friend now says “The fishing was great. The catching less so.”
This rule requires constant practice but it keeps me out of the category of “What did you say happened to him?” Tell your significant other where you are going and go there. This is a reminiscence about my brother, Lou. He takes fly fishing into a realm of artistry that I truly admire. Well, last summer, he set out alone for an area he hadn’t explored yet and, on a steep canyon trail, he fell, broke his nose, and concussed his brain. He made it home OK, but when he walked into their kitchen, his wife, Sara, screamed. The bandage he had fashioned from duct tape and his handkerchief really scared her.
Take a nap – in a hammock. One of my lifelong rituals is the streamside nap. After a morning of fishing and with a tummy full of breakfast burrito, a snooze in the tree shade of a meadow is always a must-do. I’ve upgraded from snoring on lumpy pine cone encrusted ground to the aerie heights of a hammock. A sweet delight, for sure, and ants no longer wake me by tickling my nose hairs.
Use a cane. A cane allows you a reliable three-point contact with Mother Earth whether on dry-land or underwater. I prefer the look and style of a cane top trekking pole. The length is adjustable and the carbide tip grips rock like a cleat. Stability is essential if each step is an adventure in balance. Plus, it gives everyone, who may be watching, the image of a fisherman truly teched out instead of on the verge of an immediate face plant.
So, there it is. My fun with a new normal for fly fishing. I catch and release fish, but in flat areas where close-in pocket water dominates. When I am surprised by a rock hopping opportunity I pass it by. It is a comfort that the love of my life, Christine, knows where I am while I nap in luxury and enjoy the life that passes me by on the South Platte. From trout to diving Merganser ducks, I am satisfactorily tucked into my new normal and ready for my next 11 good months. No whining from this traveler in time.
James Brozo is a TU volunteer and a member of the Pikes Peak Chapter of Trout Unlimited in Colorado Springs.
