Wednesday, July 23, 2014


Yesterday afternoon I had the water to myself. During the dog days, the Farmington is one of the few local places to reliably find trout. Weekends it can be crowded but mid-week you can still find places to be alone. I fished and caught in solitude until rush hour. The road across the way, unnoticed through the afternoon, suddenly had a spurt of life. It was the only indication of the rhythm of elsewhere.

A little while later I heard commotion in the small lot behind me. Late of some workplace, three guys entered the pool above me. While they were a hundred yards off the quiet of the valley and the reflective quality of lazy water made their banter easily heard. These three took up what seemed like the usual spots and the cliche, stream-side taunts bounced back and forth. Portly guy was into fish quickly and rated a few hoots while his buddies struggled. Before long the abundance of the Farmington yielded bent rods for the lot of them.

You can read the rest of this essay at Hatch Magazine.

I'm doing some writing over on Hatch Magazine each week (or so). Stop over there to read my complete articles and more from other great writers.


  1. Wow, Steve. I just wrote of my nine year old and a recent outing and then came over here to read this entry. Gosh, man, I am speechless with a good lump in the throat. All the best to you and to your family on your new vantage points in life.

    1. I jus read your piece. It seems we're at opposite ends of the journey. Enjoy it. It goes fast.