This site/blog has been, well, defunct. It’s been far too long since our last post. It’s not that we weren’t fishing – we were. Perhaps not as often as we’d like, but we’re always fishing. It’s just, you know, life kinda gets in the way. Between parenthood and careers (both of us), hip surgeries (me), business travel (Tim), a job that stressed me out that I have since resigned from (me)….
It’s tough to feel creative at 9pm.
We can’t ever promise this blog will consist of any more than sporadic posts, but those creative impulses are starting to fire again, fishing this spring has been stellar (if a little premature), and it’s time we started telling a story or two – with some good pictures to boot. To that end… the Bighorn.
But first, a little news: we own a boat. Or, more precisely, a fishing raft. Tim and I, with our buddy Frank, my dad, Gene, and Tim’s Uncle John (yes, go ahead, sing ‘Uncle John’s Band’ by the Dead, we’ll wait), went in on a DownRiver raft with a full San Juan fishing frame back in February. Got it at an estate sale, trailer included. The thing is tricked out, and we got it for a steal. Seriously… a steal. We almost felt guilty driving away. We could’ve turned around and sold it for $2,500 more than we bought it for the very next day.
So the maiden voyage of the SS Denise Richards took place on Montana’s Bighorn River a few weeks ago (the boat’s name is a long story, beginning and ending with Uncle John’s obsession and a legendary dubious sighting of Mr. Sheen’s ex-wife one summer in Steamboat Springs). Frank, Tim and I drove 9 long hours one way (18 total!) for two straight days of float fishing, and hooooooly crap was it worth it.
A whole mess of fish were caught, mostly on baetis and midge nymphs, and a whole mess of fun was had, mostly on microbrew beers and Stranahan whisky. We met up with another crew of Denver guys, Brady and small Tim (we had big Tim) and his buddies, and they were like us but 5 to 14 years younger (i.e. they drank harder and stayed up later). But the fish and the high quality spirits are not what I want to talk about on this trip (note: it is worth it to spend a little extra on good brews and whisky on a fishing trip, big Tim’s Old Crow notwithstanding). What I want to talk about is time. Specifically, I want to talk about river time.
After putting in at the start of the day, it takes less than 50 yards behind the oars before you just… stop… caring. About a schedule. About work (or lack thereof). About your aching body parts. About the occasional boneheaded things you do as a parent or husband. About mortgages. About how much longer your twelve year old dog’s gonna be around. About the 10 pounds you want to lose. About mostly everything.
It’s not that those things don’t matter anymore, they’ll always matter more than anything. It’s just that they’re on hold. And your mind is quiet. And, for me, it is such a gift, because I tend to worry. A lot.
That’s what I wanted to share about this trip, and to hopefully encourage you to get some river time. I hope you get a float in this summer, somewhere, preferably with some good friends, because it is darn restorative. Check out more pics below in the slideshow, and we’ll hopefully see you on a river somewhere.
