I remember being afraid of that book when I was a kid. There was something about the monster on the cover that terrified my little self, and I just couldn’t quite muster the courage to open that hardcover book past the first page. Perhaps I wasn’t yet old enough to understand the “don’t judge a book by its cover” but I did and since then, have never opened that book. Maybe someday I’ll be able to find the courage to get past the images, but that is not the end of my experience with wild things and, most importantly, wild places.
Most of my high school days were spent at the beach with what I consider to be a healthy dose of concern about sharks. It wasn’t really until college that I began to find the place that put my soul at ease: the mountains.
My first backpacking experience was back in 2010 with the residence life team at the college I went to. We went on a 10-day backpacking trip that included rock-climbing, solo camping around a lake, and getting bit by mosquitoes. We managed to get lost and took a GPS guided detour directly to our camp site, bushwhacking through Ansel Adams wilderness with picturesque views of the Minarets. I got to know those peaks through my obsession with Ansel Adams’ photography, who I poorly attempted to emulate in my high school film photography elective.
His secret was low light and long exposures It was hard to balance light and shadow without overexposing the picture. I didn’t realize then how much that would become a metaphor for me. I find myself longing for the twilight hours in the mountains, not to produce more, but to become more fully. Little did I know then, I would fish into the twilight hours of the night, trying to make it back to my car before it was too dark.
As 15 of us hiked through the wilderness, I found myself practically dancing in the alpine fields of wildflowers, heavy pack and all. This nature felt like a resource, allowing me to unmask for a few moments and just allow myself to be. Since then, the wildness of the mountains has been special to me.
This past weekend was spent in Glacier National Park. We navigated high winds, low wild life (not much more than a few chipmunks), and altitude exposure. Beautiful hikes (that were really more of walks) followed by deep sleep was the tone of the weekend. And yet, I still came back feeling tired. I hadn’t planned to go fishing this week as I have some house projects to complete, and yet Tuesday afternoon came, and I could hear the river calling.
I went to a local spot we affectionately know as the bridge hole. Easy access, lots of fish, and often over-fished making for wiser trout make it a fun place to teach others how to fly fish and a great place to build my own skills.
It’s fall now and time to put on the fishing waders. I feel a bit more invincible when I get my waders on, almost like I can stand in the river for hours. And that is what I did.
I fished the hole for a while, moved around a little, then decided to tie on some dry flies. Caught a few fish and went to move under the bridge. As I stood in the water, under the bridge, it began to pour rain. Perhaps a sense of intuition brought me over there, and I paused from fishing to watch the river respond to the rain drops. I decided it was time to put on a double nymph rig under a strike indicator (this is fly-fisher talk for two flies under a bobber). I looked up as the rain stopped and noticed a rainbow on one side of the bridge, then noticed it was a double rainbow.
It has been about a month or so since I’ve caught a brown trout. They are special to me, so much so that they are my most recent tattoo. I was feeling a bit insecure that I hadn’t caught one in a while, and wondered if they had abandoned me. Had I lost my touch?
I look up and around again and see the rainbow is on both sides of the bridge from where I stand, and I said something like, “Awe, I’m at the center of the rainbow.” I threw a cast, see my bobber go down, and the fish is on. A lovely, mighty brown trout.
I fish some more and, again, hit another larger lovely brown trout beginning to turn pumpkin for the fall. I wondered if it was just dumb luck or something more. As I recognize my position in the cosmos, I am met with some trout friends.
The thing about those who write about fly fishing is that we tend to get a bit romantic about the whole experience, the fly selection, the cast, the “fight”, and landing the fish.
There is a lot that goes into each of those steps, certain skill needed to cast the fly, manage the line, set the hook, keep the tension, land the fish, and safely return them to their home. And in those rare moments where it all comes together, the poetry can write itself. Here I am on a Montana tributary river, catching a native trout on a custom pattern for Western Montana rivers. Does it get more home-like than this?
Yes. Yes, it does.
I love that Montana gets to be my home, our home. A place of healing, belonging, and becoming. A symphony of rest, solitude, friendship, and meaning.
I find myself at crossroads of decisions more often than I like, and the more time I spend listening to my trout friends, the less anxious I become about making the right or wrong choice. I wonder if that is part of moving forward in life, needing to choose a path and not knowing where it leads. And that is part of the journey, the not knowing how it all came together and trusting that it does.
I felt myself wanting an answer, that somehow through divine inspiration and petition the fish would reveal my trajectory (which I now see more as a function of my anxiety). Don’t get me wrong, I caught some nice fish, but I felt unsettled until I noticed the world around me. I love how special nature makes me feel.
As I prepare to see my patients today, I know they are also faced with the same dilemmas I am. What is our next step? What is the best course of treatment? I’ve come to find the river can hold space for me when I am faced with indecision. My hope is that the wild things and places I now joyfully face enable me to hold space for others. I wonder—what are the spaces that hold you, so you can hold space for others?