There’s a guy on my street that writes, even publishes a series of whimsical magical stories about time travel . The main characters in those stories enter a device similar to the Wayback Machine used by cartoon characters Mr. Peabody and Sherman to go back into time in order to change history for the better. I don’t have a Wayback Machine but I still find myself transported back in time on occasion and perhaps more so as of late . There may well be parts of my own history worthy of erasing but on the whole my time travels are merely a desire to relive something I wouldn’t ever want to change .
We found some fly fishing rods and trout fly tying materials at a garage sale recently and as I looked them over I realized they were my Wayback Machine bringing me back to hot summer days when with the joy of a truant school child I’d occasionally sacrifice a Bricklayers days wage to hunt brook trout on an icy cold crystal clear mountain stream. The mountain spring fed Mad River would see few anglers on those extremely warm midweek July days creating my own personal playground and giving me a day worth both the memory and every penny of that lost days pay . I’m not so sure I’d remember those lost days pay but I do recall vividly water so clear that all the colors of individual pebbles could be easily viewed at the bottoms of even the deepest pools . And darting flashes in the water so quick I wasn’t sure if I’d actually seen a flash or not. That could only be my prey racing out from his hiding spot after an insect floating by .
Trout around the world choose to live in the most beautiful places and the location of those impromptu days off all those years ago is one of them . Or so I hope still is as I’m sure that after all these years the little valley has seen more development with weekend cabins , or even condo’s crowding the little stream . One day winding my way through the trees to a spot I knew held a favored trout hide out I walked almost head on into a deer. It startled us both and I can only imagine he was old and deaf to have been caught off guard before flashing away as quick as a trout . On another occasion a healthy appearing tree simply quit and suddenly and silently laid down across the stream to block my down stream path, the only sound being the splash .
Some people don’t get fly fishing for trout and think it a bore and I’m more than happy to let them believe that . The more of them that chase their little balls around the course with a stick can only mean fewer people to share the stream side with on the hunt for those beautiful swimming little gems . The former publisher of Esqure Magazine , Arnold Gingrich understood and he nailed it when he was quoted in 1969 as saying
” A trout is a moment of beauty known only to those who seek it .”
I told the wife that the fly rods would have great resale value and so she urged the purchase . In fact I didn’t tell a lie but shall admit here now that the resale value isn’t really the reason for the purchase at all. I just wanted to have them for a while to use as my very own key to the door of the Wayback Machine ….
