Someday, there will probably come a time when I can no longer wade the rivers fishing the riffles and lovely blue-hued pools, fly casting for beautiful trout and steelhead, which I was stepped into at the tender age of six when dad handed me his fly rod with a chrome-bright Deer Creek wild summer-run steelhead attached to it; but that day has not yet come. And so, as an older man now, I cherish more so each walk upon the gravel bars, the rush of water as it runs through my legs, and the feel of the fly rod in my grasp. To me, it is a therapy that my soul feeds upon. And in the end, I'd like to think that when it's my time, I'd go holding onto a fly rod fishing my favorite stream of dreams; perhaps hearing the screaming last sounds of the reel echoing in my ears as the line peels out. God how I love it so...

KJM

June 17, 2013

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