Of course, now I am too old to be much of a fisherman, and now of
course I usually fish the big waters alone, although some friends think
I shouldn't. Like many fly fishermen in western Montana where the
summer days are almost Arctic in length, I often do not start fishing
until the cool of the evening. Then in the Arctic half-light of the
canyon, all existence fades to a being with my soul and
memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four-count
rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise.