This fall I have had the most exquisite experience in nature with my old man in the Blue Ridge Mts. (the specific location I will keep to myself). We were on our way home from the academy one early Sunday morning when I sprouted the idea to go to the mountains and hike in to visit a beautiful mountain stream.
This stream flowed in cold towering waterfalls over boulders in the magical, eerie forest of the cloud covered mountains. When we arrived at the stream we yanked out our fly rods and started fishing! We could see many brook trout in the water before us, but the water was so cold that their aggressive nature was tamed for the time being. Cast after cast we endeavored to tempt a nibble from the wary fish, but none took the strike. Hours past as we walked farther and farther down the icy waterway, but the farther we went the farther our chances of fish ran. We couldn’t just give up our trial. But we needed to get back to the homestead.
In determination, I took one last swing at the river with my rod, imagining the wonderful catch I would reel in as the heroic cast of my right arm swung back. I was in the picturesque fly-fisherman’s pose, left arm forwards right arm far back, rod in hand, and the line swerving in the wind. The forest became silent as the master fisherman swung his mighty arm, in slow motion. But as the line curved for the water, a fateful branch blown by the wind caught the rouge fly and popped it off the thin, micro fly-fishing line.
We left that day with not a bite, we’d been skunked, but the old man had had a good laugh, one that would have given him many extra years of life. So, we hadn’t totally wasted a day had we? At home we discussed the fine time, and my dad forgave me the debit of the lost fly. But, the real gain from the trip was that the spiritual rest given in nature, the high beta mental state had been released and slowed to an alpha state. An most importantly, I learned that I didn’t have to catch a fish every time!