Travel Troubles

On Monday Court, Avery and I flew out of Billings for a visit with our families and a few friends. Unfortunately Billings was hit with a snow storm Sunday night and our flight was 45 minutes delayed on Monday morning. We even had to have de-icer sprayed on the plane before we left, it was a bit unsettling.

We arrived in Salt Lake City, UT and I ran ahead of Court and Avery in an attempt to catch the connection flight we were about to miss. I got to the gate only to find out the plane had mechanical troubles and the flight was 45 minutes delayed while they got us a new plane. Once it arrived we started to board the plane to find out it also was having mechanical issues. They moved us to another plane at a different gate but now it was obvious we were not going to make our connection in Houston. 

I started talking to the gate agent and she found us a direct flight to Memphis from Salt Lake City, UT. Once we finally arrived in Memphis late that night we found out Delta had lost all four of our bags. I spent most of the rest of the evening talking on the phone with Delta who refused to tell me they had no idea where our bags were at, in fact, on several different calls they literally lied to me to get me off the phone. 

Thankfully, after taking matters into my own hands I returned to the Memphis airport the next afternoon and found our bags sitting in the luggage area unattended. We then left Memphis to make the drive to Knoxville to start our visit with Court's family. Two days late!

We paid $15 for 3 bags and $25 for the fourth and they lost all of them. How did they loose all four?

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.