I don’t spend as many days on the river as I used to. It wasn’t long ago that fishing two and three days a week was just the normal routine. These days I do good to fish to once a month, so I’ve learned that every trip matters.
I wish I could fish five days a week, but life doesn’t work that way for me. Now that trips to the river are lessened, I’ve learned to make the most of those days, and use them to full advantage, no matter the outcome.
Trips to the river are sacred these days. It’s my time to unwind, reflect and connect with everything that is not my everyday life. It’s my time to meet new friends, no matter how well hidden they try to stay, or how many times they refuse whatever came off of my vise that week.
For a few hours it’s just me and them. I adapt to their environment and play by their rules. Sometimes I’m victor but they are usually the ones that win. And I’m okay with that on most days, because I’m just happy to be there, with a chance to maybe introduce myself.
Trips to the river are my therapy. Whether I’m wading searching out that next rise, or just enjoying the scenery from a small bank side crevice, I’m getting that much needed cleansing that always seems to happen. Those days are cherished more and more as they continue to add up.
Maybe it’s because I understand that every day that passes is one less day that I’ll be around to enjoy the pristine locations of nature that I inhabit. We’re not promised tomorrow, and we sure as hell can’t waste those days with the idea that another one will come along to fill the void.
And it’s on those days that I’m not concerned with that gear I have, or what technique I’m using because those are just things that passed the time to get me there.
I’m thankful to continue taking those river trips when I can, and I am looking forward to many, many more. And one day, it will be last my one, which is why every trip matters.