Vision

"In great deed something abides. On great fields something stays. Forms change and pass, bodies disappear but spirits linger to consecrate ground for the vision place of the soul. And reverent men and women from afar and generations that know us not and that we know not of, shall come here to ponder and to dream and the power of the vision shall pass into their souls."

---Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain, 1828-1914

READING

http://www.andyandrews.com/theheartmender/
 © 2009-2010, Andy Andrews. Used by Permission. Originally posted on AndyAndrews.com.

This isn't really outdoor related, but it can be related to the outdoors. I know that seems like an odd statement, but the principles in Andy's books are about how we see life and how we react to what life gives us or takes away from us.

I'm a big fan of his books and just want to share.

Quick Trip Ogden River

When I left home the weather was nice, warm and sunny. It was a beautiful spring day. The past couple of weeks have been one rain storm after another. I'm not complaining, the moisture is needed. It was, however, making it difficult for me to make a quick trip for a little fly fishing. Not so much the rain but the wind. Casting a small 3-weight rod and line in wind is not the most pleasurable experience.

The closer I got to the mouth of the canyon the more threatening the sky looked. Clouds were bunching up and darkening as they tried to climb over the Wasatch Range. I rigged up and started to fish. This was to be a casual outing, nothing serious. I didn't even take waders. I was going to spend a couple hours of relaxation and just enjoy the river.

It wasn't long before the rain started to drizzle, then within minutes it began to come down with a little more authority. I had no rain gear. I could feel the rain start to soak through my shirt. I kept casting.

I have made a little deal with myself, that when I go on a fly fishing adventure, I will try to never get skunked. I will at least stay until I catch one fish. It's kind of like the deal I have with shooting basketballs. I will never leave the court until I make a swish on my last shot. So, I stood in the rain and cold long enough to catch a couple of trout.

The rain began to wash debris into the water and the raindrops were plopping on the water surface making it difficult for the trout to see a small drifting mayfly. I had to resort to a movement technique to get their attention. I would skitter the fly and then actually let it sink under a little and swing it as a wet fly. Both of the fish I caught grabbed the fly on the swing.I could have stayed longer, but it was a cool storm and I wasn't prepared for it. My hands and legs were getting cold. I could feel a slight breeze penetrate my back through the wet shirt.

I had accomplished what I came to do and that was to see the condition of the river, check for stoneflies, and catch a trout of two. With that accomplished, I could go home refreshed-- little wet, but definitely refreshed.

CLOUDS of IMAGINATION and REALITY

I'm amazed at the things I see on my way to and from work. As I look out the window of my vehicle, I notice things. I notice how clouds are lighted from a rising sun and how they are lighted from a setting sun.

Last night the clouds were stacked up in the western horizon. They were giant mountains. They towered over the small dark mountain ranges on the backside of the Great Salt Lake. They were illuminated as large snow covered peaks shooting heavenward. I estimated them to be 20, 000 feet high but they could have been higher.

I like the way they surrounded the basin. The bottoms a brilliant, glaring white; the tops bright but not with as much glare. The middle sections interspersed with gray, blue and a soft tangerine. I know they were on the move--both upward and across the sky. From my vantage, they were motionless, far enough away that I could not detect the movement or the wind that carries them to unknown destinations.

I imagine the moisture within the clouds rising upward and freezing and then falling as hail. I imagine the rain pelting the foothills and mountain tops as the clouds lessen their load before sailing over the ridges and peaks. I want to feel the release of latent heat as the winds blow down the slopes of rain-shadow valleys and disappear into nothingness. I imagine the spark of lightning and the burst of sound as thunder ricochets off canyon walls.

I stand in cloud dressed canyons, weeping rain, cold upon my skin; a refreshment from summer heat. I listen to the rumble of colliding energy. The power of the storm settling into the fiber of my being. I feel the hair on my arms and back of my neck rise with goose bump skin, and have my heart race with fear as flashing thunder mingles with my soul.

Drenched from wet wading a stream all day, and standing in a drizzle all evening, I strip off my clothes and hang them on a rope stretched between two trees.  I pitch my tent and go to bed early, the darkness of the storm adding to my ability to slumber.

Awakened by light, I look out of the tent and witness the full moon guarding the forest. Moonbeams reflect in raindrops and hang on aspen leaves, waiting for a breeze before jumping to the ground. I check my watch. It's only midnight. I nestle back into my sleeping bag but it's too light to sleep. My eyes dilated with visions of stars and trout.

I hear the morning alarm of chirping birds and rush from the tent to my clothes. Still wet, and heavy with coolness, I put them on. Black skies have given way to blue. Soon the sun will be drying the earth. I add a few tears to the moisture as I grab my fly rod and head for the stream. I walk into the water, wipe the last drop off my cheek and begin to cast.  In my heart, I long for a friend. I know it won't be long before one rises and welcomes me to a new day.

TRUE FRIENDS

One of my old fly fishing buddies visited me today. We remembered some trips and experiences we shared on the water. I realized I missed things about him. His laugh was refreshing. He made me laugh hard today, something I haven't done for a while.

There was one time on the Ogden River when we decided to count the fish we caught. It was a hot summer afternoon and we started fishing below an area we call "the rock." Within a couple of hours of fishing we had caught and released somewhere in the area of 50 fish between us. As we walked past the Oaks establishment, we decided to get an ice cream cone and eat it on the bank of the river. As we sat eating the ice cream and discussing what great fly fishermen we were, a trout rose up and took a natural insect off the surface right in front of us. We looked at each other and simultaneously said, "did you see that?" I suggested that my friend slip his fly out of the keeper and swing it out into the river and see if the trout would rise again. He did and on the first drift he hooked a nice brown. My friend began to play the trout and tried to hand his ice cream cone to me. "You hooked the fish so you have to catch and release it," I said. "I'm taking a break and eating ice cream." My friend shoved the ice ceam in his mouth and played the fish. Periodically he would lick the melting ice cream and then shove it back in his mouth and play the fish. He did this several times while I just sat on the bank and laughed. Finally, with ice cream stuck in his mouth, he was able to release the fish. He turned and looked at me in disgust. "You should see yourself," I said. "You have ice cream all over your face and dripping down your beard." I continued to laugh. My friend finally said a few choice words and then burst into laughter himself.

These were the kind of stories we remembered. I was glad that my friend had stopped in to see me. We talked about hitting the giant stonefly hatch on the Ogden River in a week or two and then fishing hoppers on the Logan. We have not fished together for about five or six years. Life just seemed to send us in different directions. It will be fun to reunite again upon the water. Friendships do not dissolve. Time may take friends in different directions, but eventually it seems, true friends can always pick up where they last left off without missing a beat.

THE FOOTHILLS OF FERNWOOD

My daughter was the guide on this little outing. She invited us to hike along the foothills above Layton. A place called Fernwood. It is part of the Bonneville shoreline trail that follows the hills along most of the Wasatch Front. It was nice to spend some time with her and to see her excitement for being outdoors. My wife, my son and his girlfriend went with us. My daughter guided us up the small canyon and onto the trail. We then followed it dipping into a couple of narrow canyons with small creeks, cold with snowmelt. I had a sore arch on my right foot and stopped at one of the creeks, took of my boot, and submerged my foot in the cold water until it was numb. It felt so good!

We took our time. We looked up at the peaks and out over the valley. We studied the creek water and spotted deer along the ridges. We talked. We had quiet times of thought and reflection. We found a degree of peace and harmony that we sometimes don't have in our "normal" lives.

We joked, laughed, and enjoyed being out. The trail is easy. My daughter has hiked straight up the mountain in this area, but this hike was leasure. We strolled along the foothills. We talked about coming back and building a fire in the trailhead firepit and making Somores. I could taste the chocolate and dripping marshmallow surrounded by Graham cracker as we discussed it.

My daughter stood on a rock and lifted her arms skyward. She was queen of the hill. She was a great guide.

Shadows were getting long. Evening was approaching. We decided to stay long enough to watch the sun set. From this trail the sun would go down directly behind Fremont Island in the Great Salt Lake. There was just enough cloud cover to splatter the yellow and orange hues across the darkened Island and west desert mountain ranges. When the sun goes down and I'm in the outdoors I can get a little crazy. It was good to be "OUT THERE" with members of my family.