Endless Runoff
When the waters continue to rise
This year season has been tough for catching fish. With a dryer than normal winter and a wetter than normal spring, it seems like we can’t catch a break on the high waters.
Fishing how I normally do, standing on the bank with my waders on or just a few feet into the water has been mostly a “no go” recently. Partly because I’ve been rowing more, partly because the banks where I normally stand are now feet underwater. Snow melt, rain, and silt make the freestone rivers swell, flow like chocolate milk, and so we retreat to the dam-controlled waters.
The lake behind the dam is full a few weeks early. Meaning 45,000 cubic feet of water are running through the river any given second. The waters are so high that you might be able to touch the underbelly of a bridge.
The current is fast, the normal spots to fish are hidden, and the back currents on the eddy lines are something you’ll want to row away from.
I did happen to catch a short window in there for a hatch of a large stonefly. This is one of those “once in a year” sort of events. It was pretty magical watching the birds and fish chase down these large bugs in the sky and water. Although there is the matter of dodging bird poop coming at us from on high.
I wonder if the birds and fish notice this hatch as a moment of satiation in the chaos of current, wind, and thunder.
That is a bit how things have been. Lots of moving pieces, moments of calm, glimpses of Robins picking worms and seeds from the yard, and a good amount of waiting for things that are outside of my control to settle down.
We bought a house and now selling a house. Put down sod at the old place, unpacking, figuring out where the chickens are going to go, and patching up the fence so the dogs stop escaping. The pups seem restless with the new yard - almost as if it takes time to remember that this is home now. We get to be home now.
And yet the swirling of life and responsibilities continue. There’s showing up bedside with patients and families while thinking about the results of the buyer’s inspection report.
I’ve talked about the goal of my spiritual life being the “ability to be present and available to what is.” And here is my mind looking more like a river in runoff than the calm waters of a lake. I love what fly fishers call lakes and ponds. Stillwater.
Leadership folks like to talk about how a person can’t pour from an empty cup. And I have to wonder what we are to do when the only water to fill our cup with is murky and muddy, cloudy and undefined.
How do we find what we are looking for when the world around us is busier, faster, anxious, and longing?
When it comes to fishing in these conditions, there are a few options. The best bet, which still has low yield, is to cast to the bank.
Get the flies up out of the current and into the slower waters by the trees.
In all the hustle and bustle of the birds catching bugs, a noticed a salmonfly wing on the bank as we stopped for lunch.
Nature’s stained glass.
These bugs can spend two, three, even four years under water.
They hatch, mate, drop their eggs, and die. They only live for a few days out of the water in this grown up form and then they become fish food, bird feed, or decompose to feed the vegetation.
Beauty and futility it seems. And yet thats just a moment amongst many moments.
I am not sure what the salmonfly has to teach us about becoming.
Maybe nothing.
Maybe something.
Maybe the wing was just a wing. Maybe it was the light.
The waters are still high. The flows are still strong.
Let’s slow things down as best we can, look for that softer, slower water, and throw our lines to the bank.