Image by DanRhett via Flickr
As anyone who has read some of my earlier posts knows, most of these moments were closely related to time spent in the arms of Mother Nature in all her grandeur. One of the things I loved to do on a quiet beautiful Sunday, back home in the mountains, was to go fishing. I would find one of the many remote little streams, filled with beaver dams, brook, and rainbow trout. This generally entailed a short drive and long hike to get where I desired. The key to my enjoying the fishing was, the seclusion and solitude of less traveled territories.
One of the transcendent events of an adventure in the wilds, especially in the mountains, is the hike in. Walking along a creek bed, through lodge pole pine and aspen covered forests. The strong vibrant fragrances of the mountain forest permeating my senses. Always an abundance of willow growing near the streams, adding a flash of green with their red orange stalks radiant in the sun. The clear, remarkably brilliant blue of the morning sky, accented with tufts of billowy white clouds. The sounds of the wilderness, combining to compose a music so beautiful and soothing. Songbirds singing their love songs and welcoming those who travel their domain. Crickets chirping that strange singsong melody of their own. The breeze rippling the leaves of aspen and willow, creating a soft balance. The undulation of the creek as it flowed along its time worn path of polished and tumbled stones, giving a steady pleasant chorus, finishing out the composition.
The spot I’m looking for is one near an old beaver dam, perhaps abandoned by its creator. Surrounded by the willows and aspen, a lush green mat of tall grass swaying with the occasional flurry of a fickle breeze. Soft grass to pad my perch near the creek, a place of relaxation and contentment. I sit comfortably laying out the contrivances of the task at hand. The tackle box with its collection of lures, hooks, and fly’s all intended to attract the sleekly swimming quarry of mountain creeks.
As I dig through the impressive array of lures, I decide on a new and interesting tactic. A tactic that probably, most definitely, will not, return the original intension of catching a few fish. I weight a line, place a little red and white colored bobber on the line. Intentionally failing to attach a hook or any other creative form of bait or lure. Casting the line out so it will be clearly visible to any who might happen by. I lay back on my soft bed of grass, close my eyes and allow the sweet sensual scents of the creek to mingle with the comforting fragrances of the forest. Tuning my ears to natures orchestra, I allow myself to slip off into a warm sunny dreamland of mountain wonders.