"All the Time in the World"

I was going to post a little Silver Creek update tonight, but I learned, after fishing this afternoon, of John Gierach's death from a heart attack yesterday at 78.  I find a hole inside me, but great memories from way back when are flowing back.

Through fate, I ended up in Boulder, Colorado to finish high school and go to college in 1980. I had been to Colorado a couple of times, and was simply infatuated with it. Seemed like heaven on earth, where I belonged to fish and ski.  At the time, it really was special.  The "Big Eight" University was in Boulder, and my parents had told me from grade school that I'm sure as hell going to college. So I finagled my way to Boulder at 16 so I (they) could pay resident tuition and get going on this fishing and skiing.  I literally packed up and drove there without ever even seeing the place!

There was one fly shop in town, the Western Angler, and the two guys manning the shop were John Gierach and AK Best.  I'm 16!  Don't know shit, though I thought I did.  They saw me coming I guess, or cringed when they did.  I had a Fenwick FF 755, Pflueger reel, one of those green creels, some renegades, and not much else.  I was a spin and bass fisherman.

I spent the next many years in that shop several times a week, sometimes more.  I still have dozens of packages with Western Angler price tags on them.  Every Metz neck I ever bought there, a shoebox crammed full of them.  Six or eight full hares masks because the owner told me they were going to get hard to find! (I still haven't used one up).  Top secret dubbing blends. Bobbins.  Thread.  Metal fly boxes. Tying tools. I'd buy things I needed, and buy things I didn't need, just so I could go in and talk fly fishing nearly every day after school. The little shop was my home away from home, and the adults in there were the adults I no longer lived with.

John was always a voice of reason to me.  He tried to give perspectives on fishing and life.  He'd tell me how to fish Deckers, which in those days meant Cheeseman Canyon.  "Go when the broncos are playing." He talked about finding your own places and not naming names, way before the mess we have now with social media.  I once asked him, "How do you become an outdoor writer?" "Read alot." He always had such pointed, simple answers.  "They have a pretty good journalism school here you know." I changed my major based on that advice.

When I started asking about fishing in Montana, and said I wanted to see some "big" hatches and dry fly fishing, he said, "You need to go to the Henry's Fork." That turned out pretty well.  "Bug factory" was mentioned in there somewhere.  Deaddrift U was way more fun than CU.  "There, you fish downstream to the fish," he explained.

He tried to instill a little perspective into a clueless kid.  His spoken words and stories were gas on the fire. Later of course, he created some of the best literature ever written. 

It's amazing how men can shape a young man's life, but we don't realize it until decades later.  I was young, dumb, and impressionistic.  John was never once condescending or rude to me. He always reasoned with me and made constructive comments, even at the dumbest things I'd bring up or say.  He probably had a lot of headaches from rolling his eyes when I wasn't looking.

What a loss, but what a lasting impression he made on so many like me.  I feel privileged to have known him a little, and learned from him.  The world is privileged that he shared so much with us all through his works.

What a week.  Not only have we lost John, but Doug Swisher, who's works on fly fishing and fly design influence me on a daily basis.  And Pete Rose, the all-time hit leader.  I used to try to stand like him when I was a kid trying to hit.  That didn't work, but I wanted to be like Charlie Hustle. He said he thought Willie Mays was the best player ever.  Boom.

I guess it's a good week to be standing in a slow, crystal clear spring creek that lets you think about deeper things in addition to the fish.

I'm going to play to win, with a No-Hackle, and  when I feel like it, "just go."  We really don't have "all the time in the world."