Only great things happen when poet, novelist and conservationist meet river.
As a fly-fisher I am always keenly interested in our sport's unique ability to inspire other fishers to poetry. I'm not surprised though, as I have done so myself. In contrast you just don't read a lot of poetry about golf, for instance. Putters aren't poets
I know the author of the particular gem below because it was signed but I don't know when it was penned. He was also, apparently, Catholic. The riverine subject of the poem is Silver Creek in Idaho. Ernest Hemingway fished here and he began hunting ducks at Silver Creek in 1939. The Silver Creek Valley remains much the same as it was when Ernest first visited here due mainly to his son, Jack, who convinced The Nature Conservancy to acquire much of the valley property which is now the Silver Creek Preserve. So, yes, here one can literally walk - and fish - in Hemingway's footsteps. - WES:::
The Eighth Sacrament
Into the heart of God for a timeless day,
I am unfettered by normal life
And begin to fly fish on Silver Creek.
Only His sounds call, echoed within a cattail corridor.
Only His peace I feel, as rhythmically I cast and retrieve my nymph.
Only He moves my body, as I float cradled in His arms.
I am called here to encounter my true self,
And as my subconscious releases its burdens,
My soul ascends to touch my Maker.
Red-wing blackbirds proclaim the glory of a life lived free of concern.
Wind moves creekside grasses in murmuring assent,
As water gently claps approval against my float tube.
Sleet or sunshine, I always am refreshed,
As each cast brings a promise of my largest fish...
A rainbow or a brown, the catching never satisfies as does the fishing!
Twin Falls, Idaho
"I am called here to encounter my true self"