It is not all that often that we are sent a piece of prose, but it’s really cool when we are. This entry is from one of our very longtime customers, Joe Williams. Joe is dealing with a few aliments that come with old age, as you will read in the story below. For someone who is strugging with so much, it is really encouraging to read and see something like this…
Thanks for the caribou, glue and thread!
A story for you
Midnight, whiskey-fueled table of hair, glue, and thread…
Dreams of working deep green runs, I need a fish
On this rain-soaked day
Weighted line, an outlandishly ugly tie
Whiskey knots and glue clumsily bind hair to hook
I waited til dusk, walking through willows
stumble and fall, damned Parkinson’s disease
What once was easy, now slows me to a crawl
The willow patch crossing over
Rivers edge brings slick rock and water
Water that was snow yesterday, cold,
I’m wearing wader boots, spiked, to give me purchase, no waders,
when I fall, I’ll be wet anyway.
The crossing battle done, the river at winter dusk, muted
Fly upon the water, line slides through my hand
The spey, or switch, both, no matter, the heavy fly and line turn
over, feel the drag and bounce
Pick up, retrieve, do it over
The gut of the run,
in darkness, now gun steel blue
Takes the fly and pulls it under
One cast made, pick up and in deep
Water, my whiskey dream comes through.
Thanks for reading this.
It’s not your usual post of posed fish held at arms length, it’s an old man on the river, alone, no flashlight, hunting for a fish. I sometimes think that with all of the outdoor guys who are writers
living here, you might have a place for stories, of mud, water, disappointment and glory. It would separate fish porn from art…
Thank you for all your years, I’m grateful and proud to call you friends