November was a month of transition; moving from a focus on fall fishing and an odd number of commitments towards establishing a routine in the studio. The weather too showed signs of slipping a little from fall to a wintery mood. Enough days with snow and rain mixed in and winds that were tolerable made for good fishing opportunities. As any seasoned angler knows a grey day is much preferable to a bright sunny one. “The worse the weather the better the fishing” is often true.
The notion that life should be enriched with a measure of fun came up in conversation with Denise the other day. I smiled and commented, “that’s why I slip away to the river”. Lately Denise has grown accustomed to my bundling up against the bitter weather and heading out. Thus it is with me. When I have served the obligations on my plate (matter of opinion), and along comes a day that fairly shouts “fishing weather”, off I go.
Going fishing offers a private time, especially the solitudes along the river this time of year, and none knows the satisfactions enjoyed except the one indulging them. Meandering through the river bottoms among the leafless cottonwoods and along the broad gravel bars is pleasant even in inclement weather. It is the out of doors. It’s fresh out, invigorating, and it makes me feel alive. You can hardly spend a day on the river without some spectacle to reward you. One afternoon a trio of swans, likely a family preparing to leave the country for the winter, came winging from across the fields in a line that crossed the river. They seemed to purposely deviate from their course and swing in a low, graceful arc directly in my face, their large forms undulating with the effort of flight and making swan talk before passing on. “Hello friends”, I called out to them.
One evening, following a day of low, dense clouds and heavy, intermittent snows__a day when I stayed out long because the fish were cooperating and the cold had worked deep into my bones, a parting of clouds opened a window just where Emigrant peak stood. Rays of light struck the mountain, heavy with fresh snow, and set it glowing with a brilliant peachy color__and then the window closed. Just a peek, but, oh, to be able to paint that picture and do it justice!
On another grey day I dropped a streamer into a heavy chute of water and let it settle into a deep eddy behind a bank of rocks. There came a strong, jolting take and the instant whining of the reel as line ripped off. A chunky Brown, the largest of the falls fishing, came writhing from the water, a dark silhouette against the reflected light of the rivers surface. All in the space of maybe three seconds before the fish throws the hook. Some times you have to be satisfied with just getting a glimpse of them.
But now the studio beckons and as the painting momentum builds thoughts of fishing fall by the way. I have sixteen boxes of new pastels ordered this summer, each a set of the Unison 18 color sets. They are gorgeous just to look at them and I’m excited by the possibilities of exploring their applications. On my easel is a commissioned piece that is going well. There is the possibility of another one to follow to the same customer. I have four Glacier pieces well developed that need only finishing touches. And there’s a considerable backlog of paintings on the list I intend to address. Let the winter be long. It’s fine with me.