As I work down my list of things to pack before next weekend, I’m finding that there’s are some good hiding places for things I haven’t used for a while.
There was a time when my fly equipment was always within a arms length away. The rod hung on my wall, the vest was hanging inside the front entry coat closet, the net leaning against the wall just below it. Waders were packed neatly in a tub on top of my boots. All could be loaded into the vehicle in minutes, and off we would go to our favorite waters nearby. At least one day on the weekend and one evening during the week after work were thus engaged. Sometimes two. No matter the season.
Then came the gap years. When the fishing time dried up for a number of reasons. Long story(ies).
When I returned to my fishing ways, I left the fly fishing ways and began bass fishing. Striped Bass was my favorite and actually predated my flyfishing days when I lived near the San Joaquin and Sacramento River deltas in California. But also Smallmouth and Largemouth bass. I built up a new arsenal of equipment that took its prominent space and attention.
Now I’m headed back to flyfishing country.
All my flyfishing gear has retreated to back corners and dark recesses. It took hours to find much of it, assess its somewhat familiar but aged and dusty condition, and pack it up for next week’s journey.
There is, however, one fly rod that has escaped detection. I have the reel in hand but the rod, the long 9′ or possibly two pieces of 54″ each, is missing.
This was once my uncompromising friend. My partner in crime. My sometimes seemingly Raison d’etre.
In just a few short years I have allowed it to disappear from thought, care, and location. I have turned the house inside out and have yet to find it. It’s as if it never existed. Had my circumstances not changed to redirect my attention, I wonder if I would have ever paid any thought to it again?
I also wonder what else, and maybe even who else, of which or whom I might have likewise lost track?