Been on the road for six weeks since August 1. Now I'm home, having just hung up the bow after one of the greatest hunts I have ever enjoyed. Kicked around with Captain Gregg Arnold (Louisiana) and my Telluride brother Paul Zabel high in the San Juan Mountains of Colorado. And I never shot a thing.
So I'm picking the guitar, trying to polish the chords to Lyle Lovett's song "Closing Time." And as I play, I get to thinking that there is no more closer analogy to the world of flyfishing we love than a walk through the woods with a bow and arrows. Raw. Primitive. A connection to Nature that soaks in, upward, through the boots.
Of all the sports or traditions in this world, is there anything more akin to flyfishing than bowhunting?
My season's now over. It was immensely rewarding. Back to the river tomorrow, where I'll start making more stories, with the "stick and the string."