The Public Library

I got a library card yesterday. I do not remember entering a public library before yesterday. I blame my father, to much of my youth was wasted waiting in the car while he picked up or returned a book or books. He makes several trips a week to the library.

So oddly enough I have never been or checked something out of one. Money drove me to our public library. (Jerry if you are reading this it will make you proud.) After my fly fishing trip last weekend I certainly have an interest in learning more about the sport. I also wanted to learn more about places near Billings where a guy like myself could take his rod and head down to a river or stream, a state law allows for public access of all streams inside the high water mark. My other agenda was to investigate potential camping areas near possible fishing access. Court and I plan to take a few family camping trips this summer and I would love to get out and fish a bit before her and Avery wake up each day. 

So I went to the library, got the card, checked the online card catalogue and found the fly fishing section. As you can imagine it was pretty large in a library located in Montana. I checked out 12 books and currently am working my way through them. 

Mostly, I got stuff about fly fishing destinations in Montana, but I did get a couple of how to fly fish type books. They are not proofing to be much help though. 

Still, it felt good to use the public resources and it showed some shift in my own nature. In years past I would have simply ordered several magazine subscriptions and books online. Only to find that little info was useful.

A River Runs Through It

In the fall of 1992 during my first quarter of college I heard these words for the first time, "Like many fly fishermen in western Montana where the summer days are almost Arctic in length, I often do not start fishing until the cool of the evening. Then in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being with my soul and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four-count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise. Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of those rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters."

A good friend, Bobby Newman, and I watched the movie A River Runs Through It, and in an instant we were both captivated by Montana. We were so excited by this land we spent most of the spring of 1993 planning a road trip for the specific purpose of fly fishing in Montana. My mother used to ask how were we going to get there, and being the simple Georgia boys that we were I replied, "We'll go to Chicago and turn left." She rarely smiled at this notion and I believe genuinely feared this road trip would become more than boyhood fantasy.

Like so many childhood dreams time, life and other things got in the way of our plan to drive to Montana to become fly fisherman.

Sixteen years later I stood on the banks of the Bighorn River this morning with a new friend, Brent Downey, who is a fly fishing guide with 20+ years of experience (www.deaddriftoutfitters.com).  He had agreed to take me out. Providing me the opportunity for my childhood dream to become a reality. 

Today 16 years of hoping became a reality as, finally, a fish rose. I landed my first Rainbow Trout this morning a good fish, 17 inches in length.

The cliche of people moving to Montana because of the movie A River Runs Through It is not something a person who desires to be accepted by the locals mentions. In truth that movie is not why I moved here, but as I think back along the path of the river that is my life I can't help but wonder if it is all connected. 

All told we spent about five hours on the river today. A short four mile float. I managed to land four Rainbows and had a fifth one on late in the day, but he got off. Almost as if the river was saying to me, you still have a lot to learn comeback again some day. 

My best fish measured just a hair under 18 inches. I managed to catch it on my own, so to speak. Brent had slipped away down the river to wet a fly of his own. I am most proud of this fish, mainly because I made a perfect cast to the area I was attempting to cast to, allowed it a good drift and set the hook perfectly when the trout took the fly. 

I felt like a small boy again today, excited by all the sites and sounds of the river. As the sun faded this afternoon I found my mind drifting to May 3, this is the day we begin the public gathering of our church. I am excited, scared and nervous about it. I worry nobody will show up and I worry more people than we are ready for will show up. Yet, I am excited, like a small boy, by all the sites and sounds that church planting has to offer. 

Despite the poetic beauty of the quote listed above it is not my favorite quote from the movie A River Runs Through It. Instead I have always fancied this quote,  "My father was very sure about certain matters pertaining to the universe. To him, all good things - trout as well as eternal salvation - came by grace; and grace comes by art; and art does not come easy."  

I do wonder. Why did it take me 16 years to first see that trout rise from the water on my line? My excuses are long. In fact, I simply allowed myself to be distracted from the desire of my heart. Or more specifically maybe I was just afraid, afraid of the journey that it might take to get there. Though I am not an old man, I have learned this lesson. I will not be distracted again and I will not live in fear.

As I stood on the banks for a final moment of reflection this afternoon I realized that for three years now I have been hoping for a church. It was clear to me on the banks of the Bighorn River that all good things, trout as well as planting a church, would come by grace; and grace comes by art; and art does not come easy.

And I am not afraid.  

Yellowstone River State Park/WMA

Court and I caught a rare day yesterday where neither of us had to work and Avery was also at pre-school. So we threw our bikes into the Nissan and headed about 30 miles east of Billings to the Yellowstone River State Park/WMA. This area is roughly about 10,000 acres of open grasslands, coulees and ponderosa pine draws. There is a five mile road not open to vehicle traffic that splits the middle of the property. 

So we decided to take our bikes to make the five mile ride and turn around and come back. Even though we recently had a good snow melt the road looked very dry and fairly smooth for an off road/dirt road.

This only lasted about 1/4 mile. Quickly the road got almost unrideable at times and the trip was mostly up hill, sometimes a slow grade and other times it was an extremely steep grade. Up hill nonetheless! Still we charged ahead, we made it about 2 1/2 miles before we were completely out of bike riding energy. (A few weeks of riding around the neighborhood might have been a better way to break in the bikes for 2009.)

We stashed the bikes and headed off on foot, after we walked a mile we veered off a side road another two miles that ended over looking the Yellowstone River. The view was worth it. 

After finding a spot out of the wind among the rocks we had a short snack picnic and headed back to where we had stashed the bikes, another 2 miles hike up the side road and 1 mile hike back to the bikes. The final 2 1/2 mile bike ride was rough, but at least it was down hill.

By the time we returned to the truck we were both completely exhausted and out of energy. Oh, I was ringing wet with sweat. We finished off our last drinks of water and loaded the bikes to head home. (Total miles traveled for a trip was 11, 5 miles on bike and 6 miles on foot.)

On the way home I stopped at the first gas station we passed and went inside to purchase a couple of bottles of water. I returned to the truck with 2 bottles of water, they were the 1 liter size. Court responded in her typical sarcastic tone, "we don't need that much water." I told her that the 1 liter bottle was only 10 cents more than a 20 ounce bottle. She responded to me with some sort of scoffing sound.

 

As we drove home I am pretty sure Court was going in and out of consciousness, but as we pulled into the driveway I realized something. Both my 1 liter bottle of water and her 1 liter bottle of water were completely gone. I asked her if there was a hole in her bottle, but she only scowled at me. 

All in all it was a great day, Montana truly has magnificent scenery. I don't know if we'll be using our bikes off road in the future. Our bodies may be to old for that, but I see many hikes through rugged terrain on the horizon.

Oh yea, small bonus, I did see some turkey tracts on the WMA portion of this public land. :) Of course, that had nothing to do with why I chose this spot for our day trip. Or did it?

This is pretty lazy

But, you can check out my friend Jon's blog about our adventure yesterday. :)

Jon's blog about our trip to Red Lodge

March Madness

I love this time of year, UCONN vs. Pitt, Louisville vs. Marquette...and it is only going to get better.