Started Young…
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Fishing…
To me fishing is a ‘spiritual experience.’ The water and fishing take me to places that can only be dreamed of. Ever since I could walk, which was a Blessing in itself, a love of fishing has been imbedded deep in my soul.
One time in particular stands out in my memory of such a spiritual moment. I stood about a quarter mile up stream from Miller Falls on the Horsepasture River in Sapphire, North Carolina. It had been an unsuccessful morning of fly-fishing for trout. This part of the river was wide, deep and slow moving. A canopy of large trees shaded this stretch of the river. Standing thigh deep on the southern side of the river I stopped fishing, listened to the river especially to the rush of water over a short waterfall just a few yards down stream. Listening, feeling and looking down at my feet in the water, I saw that trout were holding themselves at my feet in the flow of the water waiting for their time to begin feeding again. That was enough for that morning. After enjoying the scene for a while carefully I left the river waiting for another time. Fishing effects all my senses sight, sound, smell and touch. It touches my whole being.
It must have started in Canada. That was the first place that I fished apparently as old photos suggest. On Lake Chandos in Ontario, Canada was where my fish were caught. That was where my Grandpa Kirck had fished for years. Grandpa and Grandma regularly vacationed in that part of Canada from their Buffalo home. Later when we visited from Florida, they would takes us into Canada north of Algonquin Park to Paugh Lake. We stayed in a rustic log cabin on the lake. Grandpa taught me to fish the lake and the streams entering the lake. That is where I caught my first trout in those small streams.
Meanwhile back in Jacksonville hours, days and weeks were spent fishing for bream and bass in the small lake close to our house in Lakewood. Our friends the Colemans had a house in Mandarin on a large creek that emptied into the St. Johns. Hours were spent on their dock fishing for bass. The memory of that dock and those times are still with me. Then we moved to Winter Park.
Our first house in Winter Park was on a creek that connected Lake Sue to Lake Virginia. Now fishing was just steps away. To enhance the fishing adventures my friend, Nat, and I bought a sunken cypress row boat from Mr. Baldwin who own the local hardware store. We paid him two dollars. Dad helped us haul the large old boat out of the canal so we could ‘tar’ the bottom. That was our fishing vessel for a couple of years. Then Nat got a sailboat and soon after so did I. We fished Lake Virigina often with much success. Then we moved to our own house on Lake Sue Avenue.
In high school Coach Dean Grove hired me as a camp counselor at his summer day camp, Camp Heronwood. The camp has continued to flourish to this day. So for the next three summers I was blessed to work there. It was a joy to teach swimming, boating and fishing. One memory in particular is written on all my senses. A creek leaves Lake Maitland in the Winter Park chain of lakes meanders through what was then mostly woods but is now neighborhoods. When Howell Creek reaches Lake Howell it forms a crescent shaped sandbar as the water enters the lake. I would take the campers by boat to the sand bar. Wading in their swimsuits they would fish from the bar. We would bring bait but often with our bare feet we would feel for mussels buried just beneath the sand. Then reaching down we would dig them up and use the mussels for bait. After high school it was time to get an education so fishing took a bit of a break.
Not much fishing happened during college. In dental school during summer school when the class load was light, trips to the Chattahoochee River happened as often as possible. This was when fly-fishing was germinated. It was a self-taught process. I suppose that I read about how to do it. Being a total novice how I learned is still a mystery. From then on I was hooked on fly-fishing!
In the United States Air Force we were blessed to be stationed in Albuquerque, New Mexico. It was fly-fishing nirvana for me. From May through October almost every weekend was spent camping, exploring and fishing the southern Rocky Mountain streams and rivers. Most everyone else used salmon eggs or live bait. I rarely did. Fly-fishing was now my chosen method. As a result I caught more native trout, cutthroat, than other people did. We also travel throughout the western states and fished their rivers and streams too. Leaving the USAF we came back to Florida.
Mostly lake and saltwater fishing filled those early year back in Florida until Mom and Dad sold their beach condominium, bought one house and then built another house in the North Carolina mountains. Before the mountain house our off-shore boat brought us years of grouper fishing, scolloping, lobster diving, spearfishing and some inshore fishing. At the end of our Florida years a ‘flats boat’ blessed us with memorable days scolloping and flats fishing. We also travelled to the Florida Keys with our smaller boat. At this point in time the Keys trips were mostly just the guys since our daughters had moved away and married. I can still taste the salt air!
During our last year in Florida Jan and I decide to celebrate our fiftieth wedding anniversary by taking our family to Montana. Jan and I went a week before everyone else to visit Great Falls (where I was born) and other parts of the state. The whole family loved the trip and one day was dedicated to fly-fishing. It was a huge success. The younger Kids learned to cast a fly and catch trout in the ponds behind Glacier Outfitters. While the older folks fished the Flathead River. The South Fork of the Flathead was gorgeous. It was a spectacular day! Wonderful memories of ‘God’s Country’ as well as of fly-fishing!
Our move to the Charlotte area was done to be near family. Since most everyone on both sides of your families had end up here. The Good Lord knew our future. He knew we needed to move. We didn’t know why He wanted us to move and that is a blessing. Not to know! As the year two thousand eighteen began I sold my flats boat. Sold our house in one day. We packed our belonging and moved to the Charlotte area. Before Jan’s cancer returned we planned a trip to Georgetown, South Carolina, a historic town for sight-seeing, antiquing and shopping for Jan, Erin and Grace. While Danny, David and I would go ‘red-fishing’. Jan’s melanoma had metastasized to her lung. Her treatment was to begin right after the Georgetown Trip. She decided that we should go any way. At the time we expected her treatment to be successful. Jan was a master at planning trips. It was like one of her final gifts to us all. Our trip was in October. Then Jan left us to be with the Lord in December.
The next year (2019) was mostly a year spent grieving. It was truly one day at a time. Then early this year (2020) I heard of incredible trout fishing in the mountains of eastern Tennessee just a few hours away. I scheduled a float trip with High Country Anglers on the Watauga River in February. The trip was so successful that I lost count of the number of trout that I caught. It was more than fifty. Fly-fishing paradise!
Next trip was for David’s birthday. Like the solo February trip the return trip with Danny and David will leave life long memories. The Adventures continue! The Good Lord Willing!
Interesting that Jesus choose for his inner circle the Fishermen: Peter and his Brother Andrew then He choose John and his Brother James…