In my twenties I moved to Montana from Michigan and the man I dated loved to fish, therefore, I loved to fish. In my thirties, the man I dated had become my husband and we had two children who loved to fish. In the early days, we mostly used spinning rods from a boat or from shore. I can remember the children’s excitement as they felt the tug of the fish on the line. Their chubby hands awkwardly worked to reel the fish in, and then, more often than not, they’d jerk the poor fish up and out of the water, missing the waiting net entirely. Sometimes the fish would smack into my head and catch me by surprise. I’m afraid I didn’t always think that was funny. My favorite years were the years when the children were curious little scientists and enjoyed cleaning the fish for dinner so they could open the stomach to see what the fish were eating. I was glad to take the cleaned fish and start dinner while they poked and prodded and explored.There was a season in my life when everything changed. My marriage ended, my world spun out of control and I even disliked fishing. But, every time I wanted to think, pray, cry or rest, I went to the water. I love the water. I love the sunlight sparkling on the waves, or the perfect reflection on still mornings.

It was the water that wooed me back to fishing.I love fly fishing because I love the cadence of the cast. It is a soft and gentle dance where I perform a solo introduction and invite the fish to join me. My cast lands, oh so gently, on the water and I wait for the fish to respond. Timing is everything. If I become impatient and lift the fly too quickly, the fish darts away. If I wait and watch carefully and the fish takes my fly, then for a few brief moments we will dance. Sometimes I lead, as I bring the line in, and sometimes he leads as he spins away from me. I net him gently, remove my hook and set him free so someday, perhaps, he can dance with me again. (c) 2008 Jane Latus Emmert