an otter encounter
saturday was too sunshiney. that kind of sunshiney that just exposes every dark corner, cuts the depth of field to zero, so everything looks flat and new. brings those deep valleys up into the light... they begin to look not so deep and despairing...
and you think: was i crazy? what made me think that was so damn important that it made me feel like dying? DYING? sadness? those feelings become almost unreal in the white blanket of the spring sun.
a long drive that day, to arrive at a little river in the mountains, to fish for springtime fish. they are beginning to develop their spawning colors. so vibrant, they define life.
we drove up to the tippy-top of the river, hoping to outdrive any other fisherpeople who hd chosen our river. and for a few hours, we lived in the happy delusion of solitude, hading flies back and forth, repairing tangles, tying on tippet, waiting for the wind to inhale so that we could make the perfect cast.
a few fishies, some fearless geese. the sound of an owl hooting, even at 1pm in the sunlight. it was too bright even for him to sleep. the raptor -- an eagle -- unseen but heard through the trees: her ripping screech. tiny emerging mayflies, as big as my pinky fingernail, drifting at the current's mercy, fighting to break through the surface tension of the water. something i don't even register as i dip my fingers through it. but for them, like being born, like pushing into a birth canal and out into air. a struggle.
we drove downstream about 7 miles and fished again. i imagined that we fished the same water twice, that we passed it on the highway and caught it again and it knew us. it remembered us, as it passed by, and was amazed.
at the second spot we spied an otter. he was contorted into a stick pose, all sharp angles like brown driftwood moving downstream. but sometimes our hearts recognize things our eyes miss, and i looked again at the wood and deciphered its otter-ness. i couldn't reach my camera in time to photograph him, which was too bad. otters are a too-rare sight here. it was only our second contact with one. we see bears and elk and moose more often. he cruised up onto an inaccessible island in the stream (that is what we are... no one in between... how can we be wrong?.. sail away with me...) and disappeared. we couldn't cross the river to reach it. we'd been trying even before we saw the otter: the fishy-looking water was along the opposite bank. but the river was high and strong, fed by melting melting. and an insane, translucent turquoise. like the ocean.
and you think: was i crazy? what made me think that was so damn important that it made me feel like dying? DYING? sadness? those feelings become almost unreal in the white blanket of the spring sun.
a long drive that day, to arrive at a little river in the mountains, to fish for springtime fish. they are beginning to develop their spawning colors. so vibrant, they define life.
we drove up to the tippy-top of the river, hoping to outdrive any other fisherpeople who hd chosen our river. and for a few hours, we lived in the happy delusion of solitude, hading flies back and forth, repairing tangles, tying on tippet, waiting for the wind to inhale so that we could make the perfect cast.
a few fishies, some fearless geese. the sound of an owl hooting, even at 1pm in the sunlight. it was too bright even for him to sleep. the raptor -- an eagle -- unseen but heard through the trees: her ripping screech. tiny emerging mayflies, as big as my pinky fingernail, drifting at the current's mercy, fighting to break through the surface tension of the water. something i don't even register as i dip my fingers through it. but for them, like being born, like pushing into a birth canal and out into air. a struggle.
we drove downstream about 7 miles and fished again. i imagined that we fished the same water twice, that we passed it on the highway and caught it again and it knew us. it remembered us, as it passed by, and was amazed.
at the second spot we spied an otter. he was contorted into a stick pose, all sharp angles like brown driftwood moving downstream. but sometimes our hearts recognize things our eyes miss, and i looked again at the wood and deciphered its otter-ness. i couldn't reach my camera in time to photograph him, which was too bad. otters are a too-rare sight here. it was only our second contact with one. we see bears and elk and moose more often. he cruised up onto an inaccessible island in the stream (that is what we are... no one in between... how can we be wrong?.. sail away with me...) and disappeared. we couldn't cross the river to reach it. we'd been trying even before we saw the otter: the fishy-looking water was along the opposite bank. but the river was high and strong, fed by melting melting. and an insane, translucent turquoise. like the ocean.
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