Author’s note: I love fly-fishing the breathtaking Cascade mountain streams near my home. Native trout are plentiful, and very active. The sound of the rushing water, the crisp breeze in the conifers, backlit by sunrise, is absolutely intoxicating.
The body rhythms of fly-casting are so engaging, and when surrounded by such natural beauty — it’s mesmerizing! It is a Zen-like experience, in which I loose myself completely, escaping the stress and pressures of day-to-day life.
The fluid feel of the cast is exhilarating. I wrote this poetic homage to the experience.
There are two versions here for your consideration. I’d be interested in knowing which of these you prefer. Thank you!
THE CAST
•
Cliff-climbing conifers stir
in the brisk dawn.
Breezes swoop the gorge,
fluttering jacket, nipping cheek.
Across the casual rapids,
near the stony shore,
rainbows surface in slack water
hungrily gulping morning hatch.
My offering undulates past,
unacknowledged,
in the glinting chatter
of the rolling Spring flow.
Chuckling, I turn.
Elbow’s steady rotation,
lifts supple shaft to two PM.
Lengthy bamboo responds,
silently stripping slender thread
from current’s surface,
leaving a razor crease,
disappearing quick as it comes.
Lacquered rod bending forward in its rise,
then slowly folding back,
as line arcs behind in flight,
trailing silvery spray.
A backward pressure builds,
line nears full unfurling.
But just before, a smooth return
brings shaft again toward ten AM,
right elbow a balanced fulcrum.
Now forward pull of airborne mass.
Overhead the line’s recoiling,
glass-green strand unrolling
suspended in mountain air,
reaching ahead over azure ripples.
But just before full extension,
shaft is drawn in fluid motion back to two PM.
This graceful sunrise tick and tock,
releases ever more of the singing strand,
painting lengthening S’s against cloudless sky.
With a final forward roll,
feathered morsel at line’s tip is offered yet again.
Bamboo sveltely lowered,
as if to knight these living waters.
Quick, smooth, and quiet,
line is re-wed to pooling stream,
coaxing a ready trout to rise and strike.
…
Rob Kistner © 2007
________________________________
THE CAST
(alternate version)
•
Cliff-top conifers stir in the brisk dawn.
The gorge breeze nips my face,
and ruffles my jacket collar.
Beyond the casual rapids,
rainbows surface in slack water
to gulp the morning hatch.
My offering undulates past,
in the Spring flow,
unacknowledged.
I chuckle.
With steady rotation of elbow,
I lift the supple shaft again to two PM.
Lengthy bamboo responds.
The slender thread is silently stripped
from current’s surface.
A razor crease appears,
then disappears quick as it comes.
Rod bends forward in its rise,
then folds back slowly,
as line arcs behind in flight,
and trails a silvery spray.
A backward pressure builds,
the line nearly fully unfurled.
But just before, a smooth return
brings shaft again toward ten AM,
my right elbow as balanced fulcrum.
A forward pull of airborne mass is felt.
Overhead the line recoils,
the glass-green strand unrolls.
Suspended in mountain air,
it reaches ahead over azure ripples.
But just before full extension,
I draw my shaft, in fluid motion,
back to two PM.
This graceful sunrise tick and tock,
releases ever more of the strand.
It sings, as I paint lengthening S’s
against the cloudless sky.
With a final forward roll,
feathered morsel at line’s tip
is offered upstream yet again.
Bamboo sveltely lowered,
as if to knight these living waters.
Quick, smooth, and quiet,
line re-bonds to pooling stream,
to coax a ready trout to rise and strike.
…
Rob Kistner © 2007
I felt like I was right there, casting my own line in the water too. I really like this poem, especially the lines “silently stripping slender thread” and “Bamboo sveltely lowered, as if to knight these living waters.” Beautiful! I really love the crisp, vivid imagery and the graceful feeling of this poem, too. 🙂
Clare –
Thank you! I appreciate your enthusiasm.
I love to fly fish, and the magnificent mountain streams here near home just really knock me out — so I found it easy to get caught up in writing this piece.
It is freshly written for a small core of a poem that I’ve had in my “archives of unfinished work” for quite some time — maybe 10 years. I may tinker with it a bit still, but I am reasonably pleased — and grateful for your kind words. 🙂
I’ve never fished, but you make sound so easy. 🙂
Rose –
The fact is, fly-fishing in these gorgeous waters, in this stunning wilderness where I live is so soul satisfying — actually catching something is a “bonus” pleasure. 🙂
I have never been fishing either. Delhi is not conducive for it. It sounds like very satisfying.
Gautami –
It is a wonderful experience.
Perhaps someday you will find your way to Oregon, and I can be your fly-fishing guide. 🙂
This poem really reminded me of the movie ‘A river runs through it’ with Mr. Pitt. I can see his character, Tom Skerrit the father, and younger brother all fly fishing in the river and your description was right on. I too have never been fly fishing. I have barely been lake fishing and I love animals too much to do it now. Seems it would hurt them even if I let them free. (eating what someone else has caught is a different story) Excellent work!
Chris –
Thank you Chris!
I fly fish with barb-less flies. Is this me rationalizing the plight of the trout — probably. But barb-less does give the fish a very “sporting” chance of escape, and leaves somewhat less marking when exercising “catch-and-release” — which is my generally my practice.
It is so beautiful out in the “wild” that catching is almost unimportant — save for my male ego. The act of simply doing is so very exhilarating! And mastering the fly cast is a very satisfying experience. The Zen-like flow of the motion, into which one merges the soul, is most uplifting.