On Sunday my Father, my daughter Kaitlyn and I went down to our local river for a leisure afternoon of fly fishing and fall gazing. I would have posted a picture of the few fish we caught, but once Kaitlyn snapped a couple of Bandon the Bashful dog and a couple of Dad and I, we got the fabled “warning: Battery exhausted” screen and that put an end to that option. That moment of failure also inspired this entry on Monday. ( P.S. huge thank yous for all the advice offered up, it was needed, helpful and I have no doubt photography in my little world will improve)
In my town a river runs through it. I live in Boise Idaho and the river is aptly named… the Boise River. I know, jump back, our originality astounds you. It’s an unassuming river that meanders straight down the middle of our city. I happen to find it convienant and find myself stealing time over on it’s water quite a bit. The fact that it’s 5 minutes from my house could have something to do with it’s appeal.
On my local river you’ll find pan sized trout with the occasional “hey, that’s a biggin!” It also plays home to my nemesis…the White Fish and local folklore suggests there are huge Browns lurking around. (If there is such a possibility in our humble little local river I’m not sayin a word, not a single word. You could torture me with barbed hooks and I still wouldn’t confirm or deny this myth. but I will say, they are fabulous)
I’m mentioning my local flair today because for several years I ignored what was right in my own backyard. Back then, if I went fishing, I went fishing….away, out of town, down the highway or up the hill. Fishing meant a trip, even if it was just for a day or a mad dash afternoon. Fishing is a sense of freedom so perhaps having the wind in my face as I drove to a destination sort of shored up that concept.
But sometimes I found myself stuck, in town, mopping because I couldn’t sneak away. It was my dad who took the proverbial fish and smacked it upside my head. I believe the phone conversation went a bit like this:
Pouting Me: This has been such a rotten day, I wish I had time to go fishing.
Dad: Just go over to the Boise River and fish there. It’ll take you 5 minutes to get there.
Stunned Me: Huh? That river? Seriously?
Dad: Yes Rebecca, the fish in that river that will bite a fly just as good as a fish out of town.
Amazed Me: Umm, well, I guess I could try……..
So I did it. Dragging my feet in the dirt, skeptical and acting totally put out for being demoted to the local river. In defence of my poor attitude, I think I’ve realized it somewhat parallels the concept of why do people walk up to a water way and do their best to cast out to the middle or the other side of a river. It must be a general idea, that the best fish are always farther away…….in all principles.
I hope everyone has a local option that can tide them over between intentional fishing trips. A place that welcomes them despite the 5 minute notice and they can visit with nothing more than a rod, and perhaps good company.
For me that place is the Boise River with it’s average trout, annoying white fish and mythological Browns. The place that ensures I can still participate in regular life and fish every single day if I so choose…