You know those roadside signs you see as you drive over a bridge? Not every bridge, but the ones over rivers. Not even the ones over all rivers. But the ones over good rivers. I love those signs. Whenever I see one I instinctively crane my neck hoping for a peek at whatever is below. “Damn, that looks fishy” I’ll grumble to myself while I cruise to some lesser destination.
By nature, I’m the kind of person who blows through things one after another. I’m a list maker. I love that micro-hit of dopamine that comes from scratching something off a list. On the one hand, it allows me to keep my brain pointed in a (mostly) singular direction. On the other, the world, you know… happens while my head is down. I don’t notice.
I grew up fishing more Summer mornings with my grandparents than I could possibly count. I learned to love that time on the water and man, did I love the feeling of that tug on the line. But of course we all get older. I had kids. Work and life got in the way and I fell out of practice.
As I’ve gotten back to spending time on the water, I feel like I’ve recaptured a lost love. At the same time, fly fishing doesn’t really let you get away with a whole lot. At least not if you’re a pretty meager fly fisherman like I am. It requires you to wade through streams, read water currents, squint through glare to find underwater structure and changes in depth. It requires you to notice. When I’m on the water it’s like my brain is wired completely different and it’s beautiful.
I find myself looking over those bridges more often than not lately. Fishing has brought me back the gift of noticing. There’s something really beautiful in that.