Special Places

Many of us have special places in our lives. Places that hold deep meaning, places that we return to again and again either in reality or in our minds. For some that place may be our real home or neighborhood. Maybe we have lived there our whole lives. The history of the place and our part in it coupled with the memories associated with various locations provides comfort and a grounding to our lives.

But for me, home is just a place I hang my hat. I have lived for at least a month in 21 different places on this earth in houses and apartments. Still, I too have a special place. Actually, my family does though I think only my cousin Chris and I hold it dear.

In the 1930's My Grandfather George H Thiele or "Daddo" as he was know to me, began to visit a place called South fork Colorado. A small logging town located on the south fork of the Rio grand in Southwest Colorado. He went each year for the trout that swam in the river, surrounding lakes and streams. Every summer he and his family would spend a week or two in a log cabin at one of the various small lodges that dotted the area. By the time I made my first trip in I think 1956 they knew the area well and were friends with many of the local residents and merchants.

There was a sawmill near the center of town and they burned the sawdust in a large cone like affair and the sweet smell of woodsmoke permeated there area for miles around. . We always knew we were close to town when we could smell the smoke. I can still smell it and even now the smell of sawdust and woodsmoke takes me back there.

My father was not much of a fisherman so it fell to my grandfather to teach us to fish. Daddo was a fly fisherman but he knew the value of live bait; and that worms, cane poles, and boys go together. He taught me how to dig for worms in the soft ground behind the lodge. No store bought worms for us! He would place my brother and I on the bank of the river with the admonition NEVER to enter the water or we would surely drown. And we never did. Later when I became a fly fisherman he would caution us to stay out of deep water as we could easily slip, our waders fill up with water and you guessed it, we would drown. I did not fall in until I was in my forties, and surprisingly did not drown but floated nicely down the river. But I digress. My brother did not take to the fishing but I was hooked and would spend hours on the bank. Later, my grand father bought me my first rod with a push button spinning reel, a Zebco 66 and I could cover far more of the river..... I was always on that riverbank. We went to Colorado almost every year through age 15.

You remember that movie "A River Runs Through It" with Brad Pitt. The scenes on the river uniquely capture what its like to be a trout fisherman, to be one with river. Look, not to get metaphysical or anything, but fishing is NOT about catching fish, It is about hope and faith and connections to another world. If you are lucky you eventually learn to become one with the water, and to get "fishy". To learn to read the water, to sense where the trout would be and eventually to catch some. When I first hit the water, I couldn't catch anything. I had to let go of all my eagerness, all of my anxiety, I had to slow down, to wade the water carefully, slowly quietly. To focus my complete attention on the water in the anticipation and intimation of what lies beneath. I did not know it then but I do now that fishing was my initiation into meditation and mindfulness. To unify the mind, the body, and the river and the moment towards one simple goal. To fish and fish well.

The town is changed now, there is no more burning saw dust and it has lost its rustic nature. It is has become a vacation town with upscale homes and a chinese restaurant and yet the river remains the same. There are places on the Rio Grand at South Fork that I have fished since I was 7 yrs old. When I wade the river, I meet boulders that are old friends, that I have know for over 30 yrs. I may have been gone for 3 yrs, 5 yrs, and now 10 yrs but when I return the river is still there , the rocks are still there and the fish are still there...and I am still there. It is home to me, the one unifying place in my life.

Everytime I drive towards Southfork an anticipation builds. I start into the mountains at Walsenburg, Colorado, and hit the high country plains at Ft Garland. I cross the plains to Monte Vista and I suddenly find myself doing 80 MPH, My heart starts to pound and a pressure builds in my chest. There is no woodsmoke smell to call to me now, but I can still smell it. Old landmarks rise up and pass by; new landmarks are noted. I first cross the Rio Grande at Alamosa and see it intermittantly off the right hand side of highway 160. It finally becomes my constant compainion just west of Del Norte, And then I hit the Railroad tracks that mark my favorite place on the river just out side of South Fork and then I am home.