“To those devoid of imagination a blank place
on the map is a useless waste;
to others, the most valuable part.” –Aldo Leopold
Every year
that I grow older, my perception of the world evolves through a “phoenix-like”
metamorphosis. Ideas and images are created, built, and then torn down as my
mind learns and grows. Remote water that
I fished in my youth slowly becomes more civilized and controlled as my
innocence is washed away. The slightly
looming feeling of predictability and order influences your imagination and
strips you of the sensation of the unknown. Sitting against the giant sycamore
that sat firmly rooted along the water as a boy, left my mind wondering of this
elder’s origin and if it had been waiting for me all this time. Sadly, I
couldn’t understand the fact that the towering ivory colored giant wasn’t
planted by legends or had a mysterious past. It most likely was planted by a
man, who looked like myself, for more grounded reasons.
Fortunately,
places still do exist in this world that can open closed windows in one’s heart
and mind. I stumbled upon this water at the right time. My eyes had grown hazy
and my mind had begun to close off paths that winded and twisted. These paths
weren’t simple. They complicated the maturing mind. I wasn’t quite sure what to
expect. Most of the places I had been fly-fishing came close within populated
places, and yet they contained beautifully colored fish, their beauty was
stunted by my closed mind. I agreed to take the journey to this water that I
had heard of from others. They talked of forests and mountains that even Tolkien
couldn’t put into words. Massive boulders strewn along the hillsides that
pointed down to the calming water. A peaceful water that the native people
would have been mystified by because of its clear reflection. Yet the real
reason for the almost sacred talk of this water was the amazing treasure that
hides within its liquid “chest.” Once the angler takes the time to open its
lock, a world of colors painted by God can be seen and held. Yellows, gold’s,
greens, blues, and so on will meet the pursuer. Although seated beneath all the
high praise, murmurings of murky water filled the discussion. A celestial
environment stained by the reluctant attitude of the creatures that swim below.
Men are drawn here to find their “fountain of youth” but are tortured by the
rthymic pattern of the treasure teasing them feet away. The water grows colder
around the ankles with each disrespected drift. Only those willing to sacrifice
the hours of their own life will ever be able to obtain what they sought out
for.
These words replayed in my head as
I turned off of the blacktop to reach this hidden valley, the uniform road that
I had grown used to, began to deteriorate and became less obvious. The
smoothness of the black top was replaced by the chaotic disarray of a road that
had seemed to escape the balance of society. The road rumbled up a steep
mountain to its peak. As I arrived at the top, I rolled the window down. The
bleak silence of the wind whispered into my ear, that it was time to begin anew.
The twisted and complicated roads that my mind had blocked off began to reopen.
The innocence of a young imagination was needed to carry on with my journey. I
eased my metal steed slowly down the tumbling mountain and entered into a
forest where time had waited, at least for me, to arrive to a place that I had
heard call from afar. I arrived at a place with a strange name. A name that
seems destined to be created by a youthful dream. Usually, I would race to the water after a
long drive, but this time I took my time and let my senses consume the
environment. For once I was living
within the moment, existing within a realm I had been seeking. I gathered my
gear and headed onward to the limestone glass. I stood on the soft sandy bank
and day dreamed about the hour. The smell of spring filled the air and hope
rushed through my veins. With my head held high, I stepped into the gin clear water.
A new world full of life much smaller than I coexisted below me, I felt like
the real life Gulliver and these little life forms were ready to help me, trick
me, or teach me in my travels. I stood there and watched the “treasure chest”
begin to shake, the “treasure” taunted me as it stepped into my world, like I
just had done to it. Overconfidently, I
smirked, thinking that my day would be filled with an over flow of wealth. I
tied on my dry fly and began to bend the air, I effortlessly launched the key
to my success. Except, it was not the one that would unlock the priceless “chest”.
The trout watched and scoffed as my fly drift by. Over and over this repeated,
I slowly began to get desperate. I switched my fly and to no avail, the trout
turned his nose and shook his fin. The chest shook more and more as colors
slowly popped out of its lid. I tried “key” after “key” but each one lead to no
avail. There were so many dry flies in the pocket of my waders; it looked like
an old pillow full of fluffy feathers. I had become encompassed by the
breathtaking scenery that renewed my mind but it became apparent that this
bounty I had been seeking would not come by hast. Trout after trout, sipped the
surface like I envision Churchill would drink his tea. The smugness of these
fish filled my dreams. One by one, I was denied and held unworthy.
I stood in the stream with a sense of disbelief draped over
my face, wondering if I should of listened to my experienced peers. A howl rang
out from behind, high up from the heavens.
I quickly looked backed to see the darkness of the mountains beginning
to slither down into the valley. The serenity was smashed like a pane of
stained glass as bolts of lightning struck the boulders to my right. Rain and
hail pelted my face as I gathered my defeated self and took for shelter. While
sprinting to safety from this grisly storm, I turned and glanced towards the rippling
water. A haunting thing happened, the “chest” shook once more.
