Pennsylvania Angler & Boater - January/February 2018 - 25

Personally, my preferred
site is one just down a dirt
road within the same zip
code as my home. A brisk
hike ends abruptly where
land and water harmoniously
meet. As if a gracious host
offering a comfortable seat,
the inviting bank steepens.
Roots, like a seasoned
guide, lead to shimmering
riffles running playfully
into a deep, green pool. An
unlikely choir of bird and
bug sing before the timeless
symphony of rock, water and
gravity. Towering above all
else is a sizeable sycamore
basking in solitude along
one bank, while an army of
dutiful hemlocks line the far
shore, sheltering the setting
from the rest of the world.
I find a deep, sincere joy
in knowing, even if only
The author at one of his favorite fishing spots.
a handful of days a year, I
am the first, last and only
face the site sees. In the soft twilight hours, it was I who
banks of my fishing friend are treasures and memories
either woke the morning waters or tucked them in come
deposited for eternity.
evening. Only Norman Rockwell's brush could have
Why move somewhere else? The ally did not judge, boast
captured the purity of the moment.
or harm. I find, both with water and with people, putting
Fishing the beloved run one early morning, it dawned
in time offers a far richer relationship and much deeper
on me the length of our friendship now outweighed
understanding of character, mood and personality.
the period of time as unknown strangers. The boy who
One of life's saddest tragedies, the loss of a friend, is
dangled his feet for amusement in the cool currents
endured at various points. Access to such settings can close,
grew into an eager young man of sport focused on fish.
which I experienced firsthand as an impressionable youngster.
Gradually, gears again shifted towards a simpler desire to
When property deeds change hands and ink dries on bottom
retreat and relax.
lines, permission can be denied. I argue, anyone who has ever
With each passing year, approaching my aquatic
owned land and water should be the first to understand one
acquaintance, I was different. The early years found me
never really owns them, they own you. Fishing friends can
taller, stronger or a more skillful caster. We celebrated
also vanish due to natural causes. Some waters want nothing
small things, like landing a job or a big fish. Later years
more than to be land, filling in with each flip of the calendar.
The days are warming. Come fishing season, rest assure
brought on wisdom and experience. We rejoiced in the
one
thing. When the old truck disappears into a cloud of
news of my lovely wife or, a few fishing seasons later, a
dust
down a back road, a couple of old friends will soon
perfect child. At times, I shared the sorrow of a brother
be
catching
up to do a little fishing. After countless visits
going off to war or the failing health of a grandparent.
and
thousands
of drifts, there is no drifting apart. The only
So too had I observed my dear ally alter as well.
mending
this
friendship
requires is the rod's slight repair to
Mirroring my grays and wrinkles, my friend showed signs
the
cast.
of aging. Like a person shaped by tough times, so too did
True friendship is not exclusive. I would be delighted to see
the site change with the hands of a hard winter. Some years
a
young
man confide in my friend. In fact, I introduce many
were particularly stressful, the effects of erosive spring
deserving
people to the creekside companion. The day I visit
floods were evident.
my
friend
and see it with another angler, I will smile, nodding
Through the highs and the lows, one constant remained
the
brim
of
my fishing hat. Only then shall I, "Mix things up
-the bond. Most of society's banks are associated with
and
try
another
spot."
holding money from nine to five. However, between the
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