The Great Outdoors...

Ahhh the great outdoors...it's my favorite place.
I grew up in a family of hunters and fisherman. My dad was never much of a hunter, but my brothers lived to hunt and fish. They still do today. Personally, I love animals so much that I can't bring myself to kill one. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy a good steak as much as the next guy, but the process of getting that steak to the coals of my grill is something that I'd rather not be a part of. I will say, however, I love to fish! I wouldn't call myself an "avid" fisherman as I don't have the time to get out there and cast the line nearly as much as I would like. But....when I do, it's exhilarating! Every time I go fishing, I tell myself, "I need to do this more often".
For those of you who have never had the desire or opportunity to sit on a bank or in a boat and cast a line across the water in anticipation of what may turn out to be the "catch of the day", you don't know what you're missing.
You see, fishing is not about catching fish. If it was, it would be called "catching". For me, some of the greatest "magic moments" of my life have included a rod and reel. I love to flyfish. It's very spiritual somehow. The quietness of the line whisping through the air only to crack across the water when you rip it backward in an attempt to cast it yet another foot. My focus gazes across the running water in search of that small calm little pool where I like to think the fish stop to take a break from the highway of the rushing stream. It's crazy...nothing matters at that moment. There is no stress, no noise, no outside interference....only you, the rod and reel, that calm spot in the river along the bank and hopefully a fish or two with completely different motives than yours. It's spiritual. It's a magic moment.
The picture above is from left to right, my brother Tony (good Ernest Hemingway impression), my oldest brother Rick and of course myself. It's late in the day and we are fresh off of 12 hours of guided trout fishing on the Little Pigeon River in the Smoky Mountains. We didn't catch squat! Sure, we snagged a few that were about the size of a big french fry and I latched onto a "doozy" of a rainbow in a water fall that ran for it and managed to live to fight another day...trout are smart fish.
At the end of the day, it didn't matter that we didn't really catch anything. Here we were, waders in tow, standing on the edge of one of the most beautiful rivers in the country, 22 miles from Gatlinburg , 550 from home - up in the mountains, just the three of us and our guide. On this day we promised ourselves to do this again. To seek out bigger and better waters and finally catch a few of those elusive trout.
Prior to this day, my brothers and I, all fisherman, had never fished together....we have since, and it's amazing because all we talk about when we do, is that memorable trip to the Smokys and how we all cant wait to go back and take another shot at those rainbows that brought us together as brothers and fisherman....