Sorry, I dont have a picture available of my spot.
Its my favorite spot in pennsylvania, to be sure. Maybe my favorite spot anywhere.
That one will take some thinking.
The number of people I've shown "my spot", you could count on one hand.
Its a public spot, open to all who wish to go there, but not too many people go there, and me and the trout like it that way.
Back when I used to harass the trout on a regular basis, any and all intruders (like 3 a year) would usually put me in a sour mood, at least temporarily.
It was MY spot, after all................
I don't go there much anymore, for a variety of reasons, but even if its once a year the place still feels exactly the same, like I never left.
I didnt go there this year, and tonight, while I was sitting in the spot that actually IS My spot, I thought about my other spot. My REAL spot.
The picture is of my son casey sitting on our patio, which is on a stream, and isnt too bad of a spot in its own right.
Its been a less than perfect month or three, and today it seemed to come to a boil.
I haven't even gotten to sit by my own stream lately, but tonight I did.
And what I did, was nothing in particular, just watch and think.
(heres where it gets boring)
I watched mayflies do what they do, which is go from an underwater creature, to a flying creature, to mating (the good part), and then dying (The yet-to-be-determined-part).
They were doing this way before I owned this place, and they'll be doing it long after I dont own this place.
Just like at My Spot.
Its hard not to feel connected to a spot where you've spent thousands of after dark hours, by one's self, standing in the middle of a large wild river, casting to invisible trout sipping invisible flies off the waters surface.
I feel and felt like just as much a part of that spot as some of the boulders that have been there for milleniums.
I belonged there.
It wasn't about the trout, although each one was a small victory to be sure. None were harmed, save for their dignity perhaps. All were released because they belonged there, just like I did.
My job was to fool them into believing that my fly was the real dinner, and each time I did, they got smarter, and more difficult to fool the next time.
A classic catch 22.
That was my job as part of the spot. To make the trout smarter, and to annoy the beavers who lived there. They would occasionally scare the bejeebus out of me by either bumping into my wading legs, or swimming silently up behind me and slapping their tails just a few feet from me.
THAT, usually got either an audible response from me, or something just this side of cardiac arrest.
Often times both.
I don't know why I thought of My Spot, while sitting on my spot, especially this evening.
Today seemed like a practice run for national crisis week, and tonight, I was just plum exhausted.
I just sat down near the creek to veg out, and then noticed the flies dancing above the water's surface.
I tried to close my eyes, then I realized that the sound of a rushing stream is only half of it, if that. So I took it all in.
No great revelations occured while sitting there, and I'm still tired as hell, but I realized that everything is fine in My Spot.
The trout may be a little dumber than they used to be there, but thats ok too.
And I can see it like I'm there right now.
I imagine sometime soon some other young man/woman will be driving their old jeep around creation, looking for their spot.
They too, will see that pull over along the road no where near the river, but pull over anyways, just because something tells them to.
They will get out of their vehicle, look at the steep path down to where they know the river should be, and maybe say something to themselves like,
"oh what the hell, I'm not made out of crystal..............."
Then when they get to the bottom, and emerge through the last of the underbrush and stand and look at what I first saw, they'll say..........................
"holy frick. I found my spot".
And they'll begin the journey of learning everything about it, one step at a time.
Its a great spot.