Norman Maclean, author of “A River Runs Through It,” said: “I am haunted by waters.”
Me too, although instead of haunted I’d say “beguiled.” I cannot pass a pond, lake, creek, river, bay or ocean beach without wondering if there are fish there, musing, “If I only had a rod and a few flies I’d play with those fish.”
I sometimes dream that I’m fishing on Sonoma Creek, only in this idealized version, the current is flowing, clear, cold and strong and shaded by trees so wide and tall that they create a virtual tunnel of natural shade, and rays of sunlight that manage to squeeze between the leaves cause the rippling water to sparkle as though there are lights under the surface.
In my youth, viewed now through a rose-colored rearview mirror. I had days like that on Sonoma Creek. But those days are decades past. So where can I find a place like my dream?
The closest I’ve found so far is the Big Wood River that runs through Sun Valley, Idaho. It is a gentle stream, easily wadeable in most places, clear and icy-cold. Its banks are lined with tall trees that provide that quasi-tunnel effect that gives the water that mystical, magical look.
I’ve been asked to describe what’s on my mind when I’m standing thigh-deep in a river with my fly rod in hand. The answer is nothing. Nothing of any consequence is on my mind. That’s the point. Worry, anger, resentment, envy, sorrow, regret, politics, money, fear cannot compete with my primal programming.
I suspect it started with a Neanderthal ancestor who hung out near the water. He loved watching the fish and invented a way to play with them. He passed his skills on to his progeny. Evolution took over, and that is why wading into a stream with a rod in my hand is second-nature to me. It’s in my genes.
The river – all that is in it, on it and in the air just above it, the creatures from the smallest insect to birds and even an occasional beaver or muskrat – fills my consciousness. I feel its pulse as it pushes against my legs.
Although my aging eyes can no longer see the ghost-like, torpedo-shapes of trout under the surface, I sense where they are. That sense has improved with age. The trout are there to accept my offer, I’m grateful when they do, and release them quickly and as gently as possible.
Rivers like the Big Wood are especially good for this. The wading is safe and easy. The pleasant rush and tumble of water over rocks and gravel is loud enough to drown out any sounds from the human civilization beyond the tree line, creating a virtual oasis.
Would it be better if the river were located in an isolated wilderness far from other people and all evidence of human habitation? Many people would say yes. They’d like to get as far away from civilization as possible. The wilder the better.
Not me. I like the idea of abiding for a while in my peaceful, stress-free bubble; then stepping back onto the bank and into a nice place that includes comfortable accommodations, excellent restaurants and good friends with whom I can share fine wine and fish tales.
My only additional wish is that my dream about Sonoma Creek being like that would come true.
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