TR Bluegill to soothe the soul

I've been away from home goin' on two weeks so there's plenty
of things I should have done yesterday afternoon instead of
rigging up a fly rod and walking the hound over to the pond.
Like raking leaves for instance, gawd the yard's a mess.

But as soon as I'd hauled in the suitcases and cracked open a
beer I grabbed a fly rod and a leash and meandered on over to
the pond. Let the hound off leash to sniff his way around and
started tossing a little caddis into a stiff breeze. It wasn't
long before I tired of taking the little bluegill off the hook
and started casting to the unlikely spots so I wouldn't catch
a fish.

The physical act of casting a fine fly rod creates a rythym
in the body that can help the mind transcend consciousness for
a brief while and in that transcendence comes a comfort and a
soothing of the soul. That's my theory, anyway, and I was
casting a fine instrument indeed. I was using a little 6'6" 3wt
built of Tonkin cane on a Cattanach taper by Steve Zimmerman.
As fine a fly rod as the man who built it and for no good reason
gave it to me.

I'd always saved it for trout, wild, native trout, because I
thought bluegill fishing too vulgar for such a fine tool. But
yesterday I changed my mind. I needed to fish, my heart and soul
demanded it and there was only one fly rod that fit the occasion.

I stood by the bed at 4:08 Tuesday morning and watched my dad
take his last tortured breath and then spent Tuesday and Wednesday
doing the modern death dance with funeral directors, bankers,
insurance droids and other Alabama riffraff. Had a wake and a brief
Protestant service in Alabama Wednesday evening, flew back to
Chambana Thursday morning before I have to repeat the whole process
tonight and tomorrow in Illinois Catholic. That's the way dad wanted
it and I'm sure he's glad that I got to wet a line on the travel day.

--
Ken Fortenberry

"Ken Fortenberry" wrote in message
.com...

That's the way dad wanted
it and I'm sure he's glad that I got to wet a line on the travel day.


My condolences Ken.

/Roger

Roger Ohlund wrote:

My condolences Ken.

Thanks, Roger. For the detail oriented;

http://tinyurl.com/vz9c

--
Ken Fortenberry

"Ken Fortenberry" wrote...
I've been away from home goin' on two weeks so there's plenty
of things I should have done yesterday afternoon instead of
rigging up a fly rod and walking the hound over to the pond.
Like raking leaves for instance, gawd the yard's a mess.

But as soon as I'd hauled in the suitcases and cracked open a
beer I grabbed a fly rod and a leash and meandered on over to
the pond. Let the hound off leash to sniff his way around and
started tossing a little caddis into a stiff breeze. It wasn't
long before I tired of taking the little bluegill off the hook
and started casting to the unlikely spots so I wouldn't catch
a fish.

The physical act of casting a fine fly rod creates a rythym
in the body that can help the mind transcend consciousness for
a brief while and in that transcendence comes a comfort and a
soothing of the soul.

That's the absolute truth. I was discussing that with a friend this morning -
the need for getting out and casting even though the fishing is slow. The
metronome of the casting groove is one of the most soothing and relaxing
recreations a person can perform. YMMV.

That's my theory, anyway, and I was
casting a fine instrument indeed. I was using a little 6'6" 3wt
built of Tonkin cane on a Cattanach taper by Steve Zimmerman.
As fine a fly rod as the man who built it and for no good reason
gave it to me.

I'd always saved it for trout, wild, native trout, because I
thought bluegill fishing too vulgar for such a fine tool. But
yesterday I changed my mind. I needed to fish, my heart and soul
demanded it and there was only one fly rod that fit the occasion.

I stood by the bed at 4:08 Tuesday morning and watched my dad
take his last tortured breath and then spent Tuesday and Wednesday
doing the modern death dance with funeral directors, bankers,
insurance droids and other Alabama riffraff. Had a wake and a brief
Protestant service in Alabama Wednesday evening, flew back to
Chambana Thursday morning before I have to repeat the whole process
tonight and tomorrow in Illinois Catholic. That's the way dad wanted
it and I'm sure he's glad that I got to wet a line on the travel day.

Sorry to hear of your father's passing. It's great you could be with him at this
time, though. I never had a chance to see my Dad off, make my peace, and believe
I am the poorer for it.
--
TL,
Tim
------------------------
http://css.sbcma.com/timj

"Ken Fortenberry" wrote

That's the way dad wanted
it and I'm sure he's glad that I got to wet a line on the travel day.

--
Ken Fortenberry

i'm sorry about your loss, forty. i'll toss down a see through for your
father this evenin.

yfitons
wayno

"Ken Fortenberry" wrote...
Roger Ohlund wrote:

My condolences Ken.

Thanks, Roger. For the detail oriented;

http://tinyurl.com/vz9c

There must be a helluva story about you and your brother's nicknames, eh?
--
TL,
Tim
------------------------
http://css.sbcma.com/timj

Ken Fortenberry wrote:

I stood by the bed at 4:08 Tuesday morning and watched my dad
take his last tortured breath .....

Condolences on your loss.

JR

Condolences with the loss of your father, Ken.

--
Take care, Herman

"Tim J." wrote in message
...

Sorry to hear of your father's passing. It's great you could be with him
at this
time, though. I never had a chance to see my Dad off, make my peace, and
believe
I am the poorer for it.

Ditto here, on both counts.

Your post was poetic and poignant, Ken. My condolences, as lame as that
always sounds. Sorry for your loss, and I hope the rest of the family has
something as soul-centering as flycasting to help them through.

--riverman

Ken Fortenberry wrote in
.com:

That's the way dad wanted
it and I'm sure he's glad that I got to wet a line on the travel day.


Sorry to hear of your loss Ken.

Scott