I find beauty while fishing during each of the four seasons, but if I were asked to choose the most satisfying page in the calendar to pursue trout, it would be January. How some people find it in them to stay inside during the first month of the year is beyond my comprehension. The hush between January fish creates a sort of catalyst for hydrogen bonding to occur; for it is at this time that the chain holding my body- made up of mostly water- to the river flowing around it, is hardest to break.

Even at 4:30 in the morning, that feeling of anticipation is coursing through your dream filled brain. The alarm goes off, your eyes snap open, and you’re wide awake as you quickly jump out of your sleeping bag, waders and all. It doesn’t matter that the sun’s warming rays won’t arrive and kiss your ruddy frozen cheeks for another 3 hours, or that you’ll have to settle for a cold, day old breakfast burrito and

Because of this reality, I felt gratitude toward Morley for getting us safely down the river. But I also felt embarrassed for Nole, which wasn’t easy. He just stared out the window. I could see his face whenever the moon broke through the clouds. Unless they belong to us, we tend to ignore the silences in our lives, of which there are millions, each with its own meaning, its own voice, and, if we do not learn to listen, its own consequences. But for the man who’s silent after being tested by the river:
Better put an arm around him.

I spent most of this fall getting over betrayal from the ex, sucking at school, drinking entirely too much and quite frankly doing nothing productive. I caught one salmon and a dolly all fall, but I managed to build a rod, tie a few flies and come up with some dreams for the the future that require nothing from anybody but me. I started realizing that I was defined by fishing and every lesson I could learn about life could be gleaned from my lessons fishing. All of this came to late as the trout were under ice and the salmon were rotting by the time I needed the river. Finally I was able to get back to the cold part of Alaska,

The following is a photo essay written by Maximilian Werner; photos were taken by Christian Werner.  Maximilian lives in Salt Lake City. His poems, creative nonfiction, essays, and interviews have appeared or are forthcoming in several journals and magazines, including The North American Review, Yale Anglers’ Journal, ISLE, Weber Studies, Fly Rod and Reel, Sporting Classics, and Columbia. He is also an Academy of American Poets prize winner. Mr. Werner’s essay Anglers’ Ball placed 2nd in the 2008 Robert Traver Fly Fishing Writing Award. His book Black River Dreams won …