The River

The closest waterway to my house is a river that looks like many rivers that drain urban areas.
An abused ribbon, tarnished by human proximity.

I drive past the river...I have for years.  

I turned my eyes and walked by, the river a beggar on the street.

And now, with a family and a full calendar and my need to be near water, it beckons.

The nearness to population that damaged this river is now its virtue to me.  I am that population.

Once on the road I can fish its banks in less than 5 minutes.  With a boat I can be afloat in about twice that amount of time.

The river is my "Bird in Hand...".

As a younger man I had time to drive to waterways that fulfilled my expectations of what a river should be.  Though I still take forays miles from home, my constant need for a watery fix has forced me to look close and look hard.

In trading my binoculars for reading glasses, peering close to what is near, an interesting change has occurred.  Though I can still see the damage and scars, there exists a thriving environment, holding on despite all the ills.

The river is no beggar, merely a waterway between meaningful employment and in need of a shower and shave. 

I have considered, for a few years now, spending more time on this river.  This year is that year.  Starting at ice out, I have walked the banks and floated it's currents. I've rowed through its wave chop, poled through its shallows and motored its channels.

Though my fly rod has always been near, I've taken very few casts.  Mostly I've been watching.

Learning.