A River Runs Through It

Finding the Seam

I have been hindered from working further on the Ridglea Theater watercolor, and did not want my blog to languish for more than a couple of days, so I am re-posting this watercolor of me fly fishing the South Fork of the Rio Grande in southwestern Colorado.  This is my second “poured” watercolor, and I still take delight in looking at it.  The original painting is still for sale at the Weiler House Fine Art Gallery (http://weilerhousefineart.com), and I still drop by occasionally to study it.  The background trees and water patterns were mostly poured, with a little brush and pencil work and salt added after the colors were set.

Last night, I had a delightful phone conversation with a dear friend and former student currently residing in Colorado.  After I hung up, I realized that it has been over two years since I visited that lovely state and entered one of those mountain streams.  As a matter of fact, I haven’t taken out my fly rod in several months, and I’m really getting the itch again.

When Norman Maclean’s novella A River Runs Through It was released as a motion picture in 1992, I was just finishing a Summer Seminar at Oregon State University, sponsored by the National Endowment for the Humanities.  I knew then that fly fishing was something I had to take up, and though it took about another eight years for me to get into it, I have not been able to lay it down.

I cannot describe how my breathing changes when I step into a crystal clear Colorado stream, and peer into those pools, scanning for rainbows and browns.  I take such exquisite delight in watching the seams dividing slow current from fast, and current from pool, and watching the trout line up outside the fast water to watch insects drift by.  My heart jumps into my throat, every time I see the flash of a trout rising to take my fly as it bobs and flows past in the current.  I miss Colorado desperately, right now.

I close with my favorite line from the late Professor Maclean:

Eventually all things merge into one, and a river runs through it.  The river was cut by the world’s gerat flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time.  On some of those rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.

Thanks for reading.

Tags: ,

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: