From the cold winter waters of North Carolina’s Outer Banks to the salmon rivers of Canada, I am held, enchanted, and at peace, knowing that there is life for me when I am suspended between worlds, dancing with surf and currents, salt water and fresh. Only in remote grouse coverts am I as touched by time and my ancestors.

The miracle of the Atlantic salmon is a strong one; from birth to death the great fish reminds us that his journey is not unlike ours. We are born and we seek, often returning to our own “Home Pools” with a deeper appreciation of life and the journey yet to be. In the grouse coverts, I can fire my gun, hopefully bringing a grouse to hand. Later, in the cabin, the grouse can be prepared for our table and we can taste the essence of the mountains, the wild berries and soft twigs. In the wild rivers, the choice is my own as to whether the union of hunter and hunted must end in death. And, while I freely confess that I love the occasional wild trout in the skillet and smoked salmon on the table, my angling is at its best when I am granted a simple dance with a rare creature from the world of water. I can hold a bamboo rod just so and feel the very life within river and fish. There is a current that runs from fish to line, line to rod, and rod to soul. Here is the primal, the life force of Nature and the youth of the angler.

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