Walk these waters

Spring is here, the mountains are melting, the waters are rising, flies are hatching, and the trout are feeding... it's fly fishing season!

Three years ago for the first time, I put a fly rod in my hand ... and fell in love.

Rocky Mountain National Park was my first fly fishing trip ... I was hooked. This sport has it all for me. My early love for golf created a seamless transition into my second love of fly fishing. In both sports, your alone, walking through nature, exploring new territory and testing your ability with each new hole.

This past weekend Xan and I took another trip up to Rocky Mountain National Park to remember the essence of why we fly fish.

We met up with the man who taught us both how to catch a trout with a fly rod. He taught us everything, how to cast, where to cast, what to use while casting, and what the hell to do once we've casted. He taught us how to tie flies and how to dry flies, how to stalk fish, and how to release fish once they've been stalked, how to kiss fish, how preform a "rub-down" before its release. But mostly he taught us how to be patient on the water and how important it is to just be still, waist deep in a cold mountain stream, never loosing perspective of the beauty surrounding. This man taught Xan and I both what it means to be fly fishermen. His name is Ron Smith, we now call him ... the Legend.

I'm waist deep in the Big Thompson River running through Estes Park and I roll cast to a hole full of at least 25 brown and rainbow trout. The water whips into the air clinging to my line creating a vivid stripping noise. The strike indicator bobs at the top of the run, I strip my fly line to keep up with the current, after this ... the world disappears, nothing else matters, I go unconscious.

Entranced in anticipation, my strike indicator sinks like a torpedoed boat and I set the hook. Flashes of a gold struggle shine from the depths, chills rise from my feet and my heart races. Its been 7 months since I've fought this beautiful fight. Stripping line from my reel, the brown darts down stream, the sound of my releasing drag unleashes my chills over my entire body. I fight to stay even with this wild creature by running down stream, he shoots back up stream, I jump over boulders splashing against the current back to where I came, we stay even. Rod tip bent, I reel in my excess line as he darts toward me attempting all angles of escape. For what felt like an hour ... we danced.

Fly fishing is not like hunting. Its a common bond between man and creation. We walk these waters to dance with the beauty swimming below, to prove we can win a battle, to struggle with nature, to be in it, to look up from our trance and notice the sky, the mountains, and the trees surrounding. We cast our line for one soul connecting moment, we cast our lines for the finale of the dance, at the end of a successful battle, for that one moment we get to hold a wild creature in our hands, wonder at its color, feel its power, then ... set it free.

It's a process that brings us back to the stream. To dance again.

Why do we walk these waters? ...this trailer from Felt Soul Media captures the essence of we fly fishermen do what we do and keep coming back:


Eastern Rises | teaser from felt soul media on Vimeo.