Back in the day, mom would have us up early on Sundays, tucked ‘n brushed, and at chapel by 7 a.m. As I got older, choir and scripture lost their appeal, but early Sunday mornings with a fly rod continued to call me to more natural sanctuaries. I seek these places with angling as motivation. Though I confess, seeing five or six elk cross just downstream in the half-light of morning, or having a mom river otter sneak her three kits to a lower pool for breakfast, or just the sound of another riffle mixed with a soft breeze from the ocean is, at least, part of the draw.
Last Sunday I rested. There wasn’t any hurry. I walked slow, working each pool, stopping to look and understand the water. Call it what you will—Zen enlightenment, or epiphany— but I believe the Scotts had it right. They described it as ken: having a range of sight or understanding beyond normal. Once achieved, a person could not go back to the old ways of looking at life.
Angling has helped me to this end. Bible Creek was where it happened this time.