Fishing

For some reason I've found myself in lots of fishing conversations recently. I have several friends who are avid fly fishermen, and then I came across this picture I took many moons ago of my brother Peter, fishing I believe along the Rogue River in Oregon. I have so many fond memories of Peter and fishing...he loved to fish, whether with a drop line off the Balboa pier in Newport, or in a river on a family vacation, or just anywhere. At the time, I didn't understand; I didn't like fish, couldn't imagine waiting, waiting, waiting for the fish to bite, if ever it did, the whole enterprise seemed to me an exercise in frustration.

Nowadays, the people I know who love to fish, Paul, and Nancy, for example, exemplify people who are passionate about most everything they do. And fishing no less than anything else. At the same time, in my imagination, fishing takes my friends away to another place, where quiet and waiting and yes, perhaps an occasional nibble on the line, are ultimately satisfying. I'm not sure I'll ever even try fishing, but I have a new appreciation for the love of it.