First loves...

"Hell, if I'd jumped on all the dames I'm supposed to have jumped on, I'd have had no time to go fishing."-Clark Gable


I've struggled for some time now on how to start this blog. After all, This River of my Life is a rather ambiguous title, and could imply some wistful writing and deep soul searching. Yea, not so much...

In the end, I have decided to open my exposure to the blog world with an introduction, a beginning, and an open ended ending. Unless one of you have written my ending, in which case we need to talk...

This River of My Life..My life is actually a collection of rivers. The White, the North Fork of the White and the Little Red in Arkansas,  the James, the Finley ( OK, its technically a creek, sue me), the Gasconade, Spring River, and many, many others in Missouri. Saltry, Rough, Deer and Ayakulik in Alaska. The North Platte and Encampent in Wyoming. The list goes on. All of them have one headwaters as it relates to my life in the river: Roaring River.

The view from here...

It's my first love. My siren. More of my life's memories stem from Roaring River than the the sum of all of my other life memories combined. 

If you didn't know, Roaring River is a State park in SW Missouri, near Cassville, about 50 miles SW of my home in Republic. It is also a real river when it leaves the park, and flows into Table Rock lake near Eagle Rock Mo. It starts as a spring, a big spring, spewing roughly 20 million gallons a day, feeding a regions need for Hatchery trout before heading down the valley. As a kid, I had always heard of the big pool being called the "Presidents Pool". Don't know why, but I DO know it had, and has, some gigantic trout milling about. My brother and I sneaked..oh, wait, not sure what the statute of limitations is on that..Moving on..

Roaring River Spring-yes, those are BIG trout...

My family first visited Roaring River in 1976. The good old days. Gerald Ford was in office and gas was in about seventy cents a gallon. The first thing I remember was my 4 year old brother pointing out the hills "Look, boobs"..I have no idea where he heard that..We camped in a tent, ate trout and beans, swam in the frigid water-why does that cold not bother you when you are seven? My dad had never trout fished, so we did what he did-used a Zebco 33 with 10 lb test and a glob of artificial salmon eggs-snot colored, of course...

I think it was our second trip when we met the Berry's. Bill and his family were from Stockton and had the trout fishing at Roaring down to a science. Bill took pity on my dad, and showed him some of the finer points to catching trout-light line, small hooks, wispy rods and, wait for it-SNOT COLORED SALMON EGGS! The Berry's remain close friends to this day, and we still get to fish from time to time. Bill still believes HE taught me how to fish, but I'm trying to convince him ( and myself) that its the other way around.....

Bill Berry- Master of all trouts...

In 1980, on a vacation trip to "the River", I noticed an older guy waving a very long, yellow rod with really thick line. I thought he was having "issues" and stopped to stare. Old guys being old guys, he looked at me and said "Ever Fly Fished"? In those days when people talked to you, it was to get information, not to abduct you, not to see if you have something for them, they talked to do just that-talk. 

Anyway, I said " no", and he proceeded to tell me what he was doing, then let me try it for an hour or so. That moment transformed my fishing forever. 19 years later, and much to my surprise, I spent the summer as the Fly Fishing Instructor at the Park. It was an honor I am pretty sure I didn't deserve, and the springboard for my fledgling guide service. But that's another post...

We camped at Roaring River every single summer that I can remember, and probably some that I can't. I spent the last meaningful moments of my time with my late brother, Jon, at the bend in campground three as he struggled, weary from chemo, to make it the last 50 feet to the car. I taught my daughter to fish there. Hell, I taught hundreds of people to fish there. 
After we had all grown, we took our kids, now fondly referred to as the "grand kids" or "the wrecking crew", along and made the introduction to the Park. In every single case, it took..All the kids, even the teenagers, LOVE going. A few, three to be exact, are becoming quite accomplished anglers themselves. The little ones, my twins especially, are starting to get the itch, they just aren't sure where to scratch yet...

Yahtzee!!

Most of the whole Fam Damily ( apologies to Anna for the pic with "what's-his-name", I like Lance much better, as you know)

As the years have passed, none of us get to the Park as often as we like (I mean, seriously, someone has to pay the taxes...) We still have our Family Reunion at the Park. We started this "tradition" three or four years ago. This year we were minus one. my Father passed in June, and, in all honesty, i wanted to bag the whole trip and just forget about the Park for a while. Every single inch of the Park has a memory tied to it. In the end, I figured my Dad would still fish if I was gone, and, better yet, now I was the Patriarch, and everyone had to do my bidding..Just ask me and I'll tell you that's the way it worked out....

My dad. I think this was the last time we were at Roaring together (2012)

So, as it turns out, this is the well spring of the Headwaters of the River of my Life. Some days, I miss my Dad and brother so much that it hurts. Some days, i think of the times we spent at the Park and laugh. But mostly, I am content to be thankful for the life they gave me. Thankful for the time I have spent fishing. Which- by the way- does NOT get subtracted from your years on earth. So, in fishing years, I'm really only 25....

There it is. Where it started. Somehow, it always ends up back there. There will be more to come. None will be as thoughtful as this post, god willing, but all will be about a life on the river...

See you out there...

I am soooo serious...