January, February, March and April. That’s all that’s left of winter. I used to love winter, I still do I suppose, there is nothing like being out in the cold and feeling it bite against your skin, nothing like feeling the wind sting your face. It makes you feel so alive to feel the cold, like it is a living being embracing you. Looking out over the landscape that carved your soul, that feeds the rivers, that give nutrients to the ocean, that feed the plankton, which feed the herring, which feed the salmon, that feed the rivers, that feed the ocean. Standing where it all begins looking out over the reservoir of water waiting for spring to flood the trickles and turn the rivers into a shade of chocolate, watching the ravens soar in the afternoon, spotting a moose against the white of winter, then turning and letting gravity take you back to the real world, is something else.

Every moment has a lesson, and every mountain begs to make a moment. I remember one such moment, connecting with someone special, sitting on top of a mountain for what seems like hours, watching the light in her eyes, feeling happy, being at peace with who I was, feeling the week sun on my salty face, its moments like that which make winter special. The moment was over too soon we got up and left, wondered down the mountain ate lunch and went our ways. Almost six years later it seems like yesterday, I remember every emotion I felt, I remember the warmth of the sun, I remember the debate in my head. “Should I kiss her?” I thought to myself over and over again “Should I?”
“Yes go for it what do you have to lose?”
“No its a long ways down, you don’t want things to be weird”
“Do it”
“Don’t she’ll just reject you”
In the end I didn’t kiss her, I did nothing I sat there and talked, and quite frankly I was right.

That conversation plays in my head every time I meet someone new, that conversation reminds me that I can’t get what I don’t try for. Its all a risk, this whole living thing is risky I might get hurt, I might die young, I might be lonely and sad forever, I might not ever catch another fish. Tomorrow I could fall out of the raft, get stuck under an ice shelf and never make it back to the surface. Its all a risk. Should I have risked it then? Nope, hindsight says. My first kiss with a woman who I stayed with for four years was directly related to my not kissing that girl on the mountain. There I was scared out of my eighteen year old mind, faced with a similar situation and I thought back remembering my failure to act. No risk no reward, “Can I kiss you?” came out of my mouth, “I suppose,” was the response. So began a week when I was higher than I’ve ever been, so it began. Just like I have to die someday that relationship had to end, and just like death I tried hard to stave off the inevitable, and just like death will, the end caught up with me. We had some good times her and me.

As I roll on through winter I think I’ll have to go up that mountain again soon, I can’t relive that moment but I can at least visit the place most responsible for my happiness outside of the river. Tomorrow I can clear my mind of these thoughts, I drive them out with a river, and hopefully a trout. I can marvel in the beauty of the marine nitrogen transport that the salmon provide and love every frozen guide, every frozen foot, and every smile, every laugh, every mend, every bit of focus. I will feel the sun on my face and pretend it did anything more than shine.

I will have someone in my life who will make me happy again, I will, there will be someone to love me again, until then I need to make myself happy, and fishing makes me happy.

Tomorrow I’ll go fishing