Another dispatch and some fine writing from the Roaring Fork Valley’s Cameron Scott:
Sometimes flyfishing leads us into rugged territory, all in order to bend one down. Canyons, high country lakes, foreign countries can pull a flyfisherman from day to day life and routines. Ever wondered what exactly lies beyond that cliff out?
Gunni Cliff Out
“We come for your fish but at night we’ll leave with your women, which we like just a little on the silty side.” –Doug Moyer
One last fish on a streamer
before sitting around a half keg fire,
grease bomb rising into the night
nowhere to go but this great distance
into the earth, settling beneath
the basket moon, silver in the sky.
Line slips between fingers,
trading highways for wind, cities for sun,
medicine for rain. Down here
in this resonating world of billion year old rocks
fish hold sway. Take poison ivy
over traffic, cactus thorns over bills.
When rain rolls through
and lightning strikes it seems as if
everywhere there are charred trees.
Charred trees over cancer, mountain
lion tail flicking around outcrop, real
or imagined. Wet wind kicking up
there is always deeper to wade.
There is always the next bend.
There is always this wild recess
between canyon walls, uneven delineation
between before and after. There is no
going back the same way in, not really.