Tag Archives: fishingpoet

FIRST LIGHT

First light

At first light I returned to where we had last seen blood. A sparkling sheen of frost on the fields, thin ice on standing water, and my breath hanging lazily in the air made the stillness feel full and close like a heavy flannel. I hoped that morning would show us that Cam’s buck had simply laid down last night and the small roaming sweeps of our flashlights had simply missed spotting him. Cam was at school. I walked with my thoughts.

After two hours I had to resign myself to the fact that he wasn’t going to give himself up. But as disappointed as I was that this is the turn events took, I have to move past last night’s speculation. Whether other hunters claimed him, or he simply ran far further than we thought conceivable, that animal walked into Cam’s life yesterday afternoon and gave him the gift of firsthand awe, wonder, and appreciation.

Listening to him describe the deer and the moment, reliving each sense, was poetry. His color and muscled stature. The almost wide-eyed look and breathless jitters of being in rut. How unreal the sheer size of his antlers looked when he turned his head. Leaves crunching under another, smaller buck’s hooves. The warm light of sunset. At 14 he is in possession of an awareness, calmness, and understanding of the natural world around him that I didn’t truly come to until I was an adult, in spite of growing up fishing and hunting with my dad. Cam takes nothing for granted. He accepts that things happen for a reason, broadens his perspective, and moves forward with gratitude. Life’s lessons are for learning, not lamenting.

I know that too soon his life will take him far and wide as he settles into his place and purpose. As a parent, this is my hope. But right now his journey is just beginning. And I’m fortunate enough to be able to share this stretch of it with him.

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Filed under Fatherhood and venison jerkey, In the woods

#theyearofhappiness

The 4th day of the new year is winding down. A couple fingers of bourbon. Leif Vollebekk singing Cairo Blues. Two dogs vying for heat-run space and my attention. A crockpot full of brisket filling the kitchen like the recitation of a long-simmering poem. My wife will be home from work soon. The kids are with their mom. And I’m sitting in the midst of everything thinking about everything. Writing some stuff down.

Earlier this morning I dropped off a dear old friend at the airport who I was stationed with in Germany. He flew in from Portland on a last minute invite and serendipitous timing to visit and celebrate New Years with us. The last time we saw each other was in 2010 when I flew out to Portland to meet him and fish the Fall, Dechutes, and Metolius Rivers together. Prior to that was 1993 when my tour in Germany (and our tenure as roommates) ended and my boots pointed toward Ft. Benning, Georgia for my next duty station. We were teenagers. Army Privates who were a long way from home. A few of us became close friends, as happens when the world is suddenly far bigger than you’ve known and you need to rely on others to help keep your shit straight. Thankfully, he and I have managed to actually stay connected beyond Facebook likes and comments on pictures of kids, fish, or new vehicles.

During his visit, Josh reminded me of the substance of our late night Pendleton whisky talks from my 2010 trip west. We spent two cold April days up to our nuts fly fishing in unproductive water and two cold April nights crowding a riverside campfire before climbing into a thin nylon tent and 30-below fart-sacks, and then a couple better days of fishing and nights lounging in a yurt at Tumalo State Park outside of Bend during a snow storm. I wasn’t happy in work or my marriage, and wasn’t very present as a dad with my three kids. I hadn’t been for a while. He was trying to navigate a divorce and the intricacies of a tough dating scene while being a great dad to his (then) 6 year old boy.

We were back in a world far bigger that we’d known from both a personal and a camping-in-Umpqua-National-Forest standpoint, and needed to lean on each other to keep our shit straight again. We bared our souls and spilled our guts. We listened and empathized. We raised glasses to the things that we loved and middle fingers to everything that was wrong. We both just wanted to be happy, and find an even keel. On the last day of our trip we hiked up to the headwaters of the Metolius, a small garden of quiet, unassuming springs in the shadow of Black Butte, and Josh asked me this question: why don’t you just do what you need to do to be happy?

That question started the atrophied wheels of my motivated, idealistic, hungry-for-life younger self in motion. Far more than I understood at the time. Over the next six years it sparked my move to freelance, inspired Deliberate Life, helped me come to terms with ending my marriage, and strengthened my love and involvement with my kids, family, and friends. It also led me to a place (mentally/emotionally/physically) where I was ready to meet the woman who I just married this past August.

When Amanda and I started dating and sharing photos on Instagram we created the hashtag #theyearofhappiness to accompany all the big and small moments we captured and celebrated in our life (it seems to have caught on a little). And even though we’re well outside of that first year, it still lives on. It lives on because the year of happiness is not a finite period of time. It’s a state-of mind and being. It’s a reminder that you can, in fact, do what you need to do to be happy, and that we found each other because of our individual pasts, not in spite of them. Happiness is a choice that we are all capable of making.

I was extremely sad and nostalgic on the drive home from the airport. Saying goodbye to a brother after so short and meaningful a visit is never easy. The car was packed with the ghosts of the full expanse of our shared experiences, meandering pasts and mindful todays, our choices and the failures and successes born of them. We had so much more to say, so much more ground to cover than time available. But I’m grateful that we’ve stayed in touch and that Josh was here with us to close out the end of this particular year of happiness, especially since he played a significant role in making it possible. I know we’ll be making a point of not letting so much time pass before our next visit.

To that end, I wish you all #theyearofhappiness many, many times over. Hashtag the shit out of every one of them.

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Filed under Life, Time in service

THE INTERVIEWS: PETRA PAGE-MANN, FRUITION SEEDS

I learned about Punnet squares in high school. The simple 4-square explanation of which dominant or recessive traits would be expressed in flowers, vegetables, animals, and babies. I was fascinated by biology and genetics and how we were able to not only predict the genotype and phenotype of breeding pairs, but experiment with new, stronger, or more favorable breeds of vegetables, flowers, and fruits, as well as understand and then fight disease in all living things on a genetic level.

I didn’t understand the real value of this experimentation and study then, but in the several decades since (and through a looooong Bio-Chem, Genetics, and Forensics tenure as an undergrad) I’ve learned that these discoveries from the early 1900s are actually part of the underpinnings of the immensely important sustainability-conversation that is being had all over the globe.

In the world of fruits, vegetables, and flowers these discoveries are also part of what inspires some tremendously dedicated individuals – people like Petra Page-Mann and her partner Matthew Goldfarb at Fruition Seeds – to explore further, bringing the global conversation to a very practical, attainable, and local place with the development of resilient, organic, regionally-specific seeds.

Here, Petra discusses the importance of their work with regional seed genetics, their process, and the benefits of sustainable food production in the communities we live in and the larger world we all share.

Use the controls at the bottom of the image to zoom and navigate the story.

[pdf-embedder url=”http://www.fishingpoet.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/12/Smythe_DreamRealized.pdf”%5D

This story originally appeared in POST Magazine.
Photography by Hannah Betts

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THE INTERVIEWS: LEIF MERMAGEN – STREAMWALKER NETS

Talk to most any hunter or fisherman about what they rely on in the field or on the water and you’re inevitably going to come across a fly rod and reel, fly box, shotgun, rifle, chamois shirt, bird vest, or the offspring of a beloved and loyal gun dog that was handed down a generation or more, along with a stable of stories to accompany them.

It puts the butter in the basketThat’s how I felt when I first laid eyes on the fly fishing landing nets that Leif Mermagen crafts by hand at Streamwalker Nets here in upstate New York. Like I was looking at a piece of outdoor sporting nostalgia that had already stood the test of time, and still had generations to go.

There are only a small handful of guys around the country that are doing the small batch, custom-built, handcrafted artistry that Leif does. Guys like John Parise at Riversong Nets or Denny Carson at Bitterroot Nets. Each has his own unique style, process, materials, and attention to detail. And each has found an audience that appreciates the story and inspiration behind each net, as well as the mileage they’re going to get out of them.The boys

I know that I’ve got a pretty substantial pile of hunting and fishing gear that my kids will ultimately inherit when I’m no longer around, or simply too old to enjoy. It makes me happy to know that the two nets I have from Leif will live on with them and be as full of stories as they were full of fish.

You can read Leif’s story below.

Use the controls at the bottom of the image to zoom and navigate the story.

[pdf-embedder url=”https://fishingpoet.files.wordpress.com/2016/12/smythe_leifmermagen.pdf” title=”Streamwalker Nets”]

Photo credit: Denver Miller
This story first appeared in POST Magazine.

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Filed under Interviews, On the water

THE INTERVIEWS: PAT SMITH – WEST HOLLOW BOAT CO.

It doesn’t matter if it’s fly rods, guitars, furniture, homes, duck decoys, or myriad other custom-built items, when it comes to crafting things with your own two hands, for those that make their living at it (or the experts that keep the fires of their passion burning in their free-time), there’s only one way to do it – as close to the old fashioned way as possible.

cedar canvas works of artFor some it’s the challenge. For some it’s honoring the process. In some instances there’s simply no better way available. But in every case, the quality, attention to detail, and unique characteristics that come with the finished product are the hallmark of the craftsmen that settle for nothing less than doing it right.

In Pat Smith’s case, as the owner of West Hollow Boat Company and maker of custom cedar-canvas and lapstrake canoes, the old-fashioned way is the only way as far as he’s concerned.

Use the controls at the bottom of the image to zoom and navigate the story.

[pdf-embedder url=”https://fishingpoet.files.wordpress.com/2016/11/smythe_patsmith.pdf” title=”Pat Smith”]

Photo credit: Grant Taylor
This story first appeared in POST Magazine.

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Filed under Interviews, On the water