Coyight John L. Slaon July 2010
Outdoors With John L. Sloan
July 21, 2010
First a word of explanation. Perhaps some of you may have noticed you have read some of these stories before. There is a reason for that. I have been quite ill for some time and unable to write. I just got out of the hospital yesterday. Hope fully I can begin writing again next week. In the meantime, enjoy this one. JLS
A Man Needs a River.
I believe a man needs a river in his life. I am made to think that it is upon rivers that dreams float, sometimes to fruition, sometimes to sink and vanish in a swirl of current. Rivers and men, especially outdoors type men, go together.
Rivers provide the constant question, even if you have been there many times, �What is just around the bend?� Rivers provide a continuous source of wanderlust and adventure. Oh how I would love to have been around to join Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer and Jim as they rafted down the mighty Mississippi.
I read recently, a book titled The No Name River. I can�t recall who wrote it but it was of the type book that once you embark upon the first page, you don�t put it down until the journey is done. It is about a river in the far north of Manitoba that has no name. The timeframe was just after the Second World War. I paddled and battled the currents and the weather right along with the author. Hunted caribou along the banks, trapped during the winter, shared fish with the wandering Inuits and Chipewan. What a journey that was.
Another book. The River Y brought back to me, my constant consideration of dropping out. The main character in that book did just that. He is actually the son of an older outdoor writer with whom I am faintly acquainted. The son, college educated with a good job, quit. One day he just quit. He walked away and started building flyrods and tying trout flies. He lived on a river shaped like the letter Y, hence the name. As far as I know, he lived happily ever after.
There is a river that divides Canada from Montana. The Milk River. It is not a big river but it calls to you if you hunt along its� banks. I hate canoes but I would entertain a float trip down the Milk...if I could bowhunt along the way.
I�ve had plenty of rivers in my life. I guess the first was the Red River as it flows through Louisiana. It use to be a muddy mess, full of dangerous sand bars currents. Now it is a superb fishery.
How many times have I stood in the swirling fog that rises from a river of water colder than the air, producing river fog? How often have I shivered in the just before sunrise, sunrise being that time before the sun tops the river bluffs, and waited for a trout, a bass or just a warm ray of sunshine, as a river awakens.
In the Hill Country of Texas, the Pedernales River was one of my loves. I fished it in many places, swam in it, gathered cattle and goats along its� banks and camped there often. I�ll admit, a few times, I drank from it. I�m still alive. It was a friendly river, always laughing and giggling and it bounced and shimmered over gravel bars and burbled as it banked off the rock bluffs that came along periodically. Willie Nelson even wrote a song about it. I think sometimes, I might have done a better job. No way Willie knew that river as I.
In Wyoming I prowled the banks of both forks of the Powder River, supposedly the location of Butch and Sundance�s Hole-in-the-Wall. I never found it. I did find trout, lots of them. Drank a lot of beer after a day on the river, in the Hole In The Wall Bar in Kaycee.
Then I moved here. Took me a while to find a river that suited me. I tried the Buffalo. Too far away but beautiful. Same was true with the Duck River. Well, the Cumberland is the Cumberland, more lake than river.
Mostly now, the Caney Fork suits my needs. I have fished just about every inch of it below the dam. I know the river well. It still manages to surprise me from time to time. It is also getting a tad crowded but not too bad.
But there is a river in New Brunswick that is just daring me to take it on before I get much older. I can�t spell it, can�t even pronounce it. I�ve fished it a few times with my friend, Bruce Hanley. He tells of a camp he has a day�s boat travel back in the bush. It is a rough camp and the bugs would be mean. But it could be done with the new Thermacell things. I�m thinking seriously about it. Bruce has lost 150 pounds and is down to trim 240. He says he is up to it.
Rivers have secrets that you can make them divulge if you let the water push and pull you. Slip into the eddies and the swirls. Let the river control your speed and destination. There are things to see and discover. I�m giving it some serious thought, the Mac. A man has to have a dream and a river upon which to float it.
The sun is down now. It is almost firefly time. I think I�ll go to bed and see if I can dream how to spell and pronounce Macadavic. Or something like that. It is a river upon which dreams can float for a long way.
Tomorrow I�ll be 62. I�d better hurry and find another river.
A man needs a river.
Always.
###
Outdoors With John L. Sloan
July 21, 2010
First a word of explanation. Perhaps some of you may have noticed you have read some of these stories before. There is a reason for that. I have been quite ill for some time and unable to write. I just got out of the hospital yesterday. Hope fully I can begin writing again next week. In the meantime, enjoy this one. JLS
A Man Needs a River.
I believe a man needs a river in his life. I am made to think that it is upon rivers that dreams float, sometimes to fruition, sometimes to sink and vanish in a swirl of current. Rivers and men, especially outdoors type men, go together.
Rivers provide the constant question, even if you have been there many times, �What is just around the bend?� Rivers provide a continuous source of wanderlust and adventure. Oh how I would love to have been around to join Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer and Jim as they rafted down the mighty Mississippi.
I read recently, a book titled The No Name River. I can�t recall who wrote it but it was of the type book that once you embark upon the first page, you don�t put it down until the journey is done. It is about a river in the far north of Manitoba that has no name. The timeframe was just after the Second World War. I paddled and battled the currents and the weather right along with the author. Hunted caribou along the banks, trapped during the winter, shared fish with the wandering Inuits and Chipewan. What a journey that was.
Another book. The River Y brought back to me, my constant consideration of dropping out. The main character in that book did just that. He is actually the son of an older outdoor writer with whom I am faintly acquainted. The son, college educated with a good job, quit. One day he just quit. He walked away and started building flyrods and tying trout flies. He lived on a river shaped like the letter Y, hence the name. As far as I know, he lived happily ever after.
There is a river that divides Canada from Montana. The Milk River. It is not a big river but it calls to you if you hunt along its� banks. I hate canoes but I would entertain a float trip down the Milk...if I could bowhunt along the way.
I�ve had plenty of rivers in my life. I guess the first was the Red River as it flows through Louisiana. It use to be a muddy mess, full of dangerous sand bars currents. Now it is a superb fishery.
How many times have I stood in the swirling fog that rises from a river of water colder than the air, producing river fog? How often have I shivered in the just before sunrise, sunrise being that time before the sun tops the river bluffs, and waited for a trout, a bass or just a warm ray of sunshine, as a river awakens.
In the Hill Country of Texas, the Pedernales River was one of my loves. I fished it in many places, swam in it, gathered cattle and goats along its� banks and camped there often. I�ll admit, a few times, I drank from it. I�m still alive. It was a friendly river, always laughing and giggling and it bounced and shimmered over gravel bars and burbled as it banked off the rock bluffs that came along periodically. Willie Nelson even wrote a song about it. I think sometimes, I might have done a better job. No way Willie knew that river as I.
In Wyoming I prowled the banks of both forks of the Powder River, supposedly the location of Butch and Sundance�s Hole-in-the-Wall. I never found it. I did find trout, lots of them. Drank a lot of beer after a day on the river, in the Hole In The Wall Bar in Kaycee.
Then I moved here. Took me a while to find a river that suited me. I tried the Buffalo. Too far away but beautiful. Same was true with the Duck River. Well, the Cumberland is the Cumberland, more lake than river.
Mostly now, the Caney Fork suits my needs. I have fished just about every inch of it below the dam. I know the river well. It still manages to surprise me from time to time. It is also getting a tad crowded but not too bad.
But there is a river in New Brunswick that is just daring me to take it on before I get much older. I can�t spell it, can�t even pronounce it. I�ve fished it a few times with my friend, Bruce Hanley. He tells of a camp he has a day�s boat travel back in the bush. It is a rough camp and the bugs would be mean. But it could be done with the new Thermacell things. I�m thinking seriously about it. Bruce has lost 150 pounds and is down to trim 240. He says he is up to it.
Rivers have secrets that you can make them divulge if you let the water push and pull you. Slip into the eddies and the swirls. Let the river control your speed and destination. There are things to see and discover. I�m giving it some serious thought, the Mac. A man has to have a dream and a river upon which to float it.
The sun is down now. It is almost firefly time. I think I�ll go to bed and see if I can dream how to spell and pronounce Macadavic. Or something like that. It is a river upon which dreams can float for a long way.
Tomorrow I�ll be 62. I�d better hurry and find another river.
A man needs a river.
Always.
###
