Fly Fishing: Embracing New Waters Through Grief
The river gave me more than a view yesterday...it handed me back my joy.
I've always loved to fish.
When I was a little girl, and dad told me he was going fishing early in the morning, I would get dressed and sleep in my clothes so he wouldn't leave me behind.
Not that he would, but he liked to tease me.
This trip is showing me what I've been missing in my life since Dad died.
He was my fishing partner for 50+ years, and I haven't returned to it seriously since he died.
That changes now though. I've fished in boats and on banks, but I've only waded into the water and fly fished one time, many years ago.
My stepfather tried to teach me how to fly fish when I was a teenager, but it didn't take.
I can still remember his words, "Fig-ure eightttttttt.....fig-ure eightttttttt...." as he tried to teach me how to plop that fly in the right spot and let it drift to the fish.
I wasn't ready then.
Now I am.
I want to wade into waters I haven't experienced before, and not just as it pertains to fly fishing.
This is just a step towards more merging, less separation.
I think I can appreciate the slow rhythm of the water in a way I wasn't able to before. I've developed patience and now I want more refinement.
Entering the water for the solitary experience instead of feeling like I need another to fully enjoy the moment is...new to me.
Now I know why my stepfather brought that sling on the trip. He told me using a sling will help me throw a fly.
One father died, but my other one has stepped in and still teaches, like he always has.
Even now. At 57.
My stepfather caught this moment below where I became fixed on fly fishing, my mind made up.
Time to enter the water.
Random fact about me: I was a Campfire Girl as a kid.