River
“You can never walk into the same river twice because it’s never the same river and you are never the same man.”
I step down into the brisk current of the river, wondering if I will be able to stay upright while the rushing water tries to push me downstream. I’m a year older than last season, and walking on snot-covered bowling balls against the chilling current of spring runoff is not a job for amateurs or old men. Fortunately, my dog and I make it across the river without incident. I shuffle ahead and begin casting flies upstream in pursuit of the wild brown trout that inhabits the river.
The apex of God’s creation has always been a wild mountain river for me. Water crashing downhill against rocks is a symphony to my ears. The freezing cold water pummeling my legs invigorates me, and the visual bombardment of colors, movements, and light paints a masterpiece beyond description. The problems I had moments before vanish when I step into the river. For the next three hours, I am immersed in a fly-fishing universe and the luminous thoughts that inhabit this world.
About half of the rivers in the west are controlled by upstream dams that regulate seasonal flows and maintain the river for its downstream purposes. The Little Laramie is a wild “freestone” river with unregulated flows that range from a docile 10 cubic feet per second (CFS) in the summer to as high as 2,000 CFS during rowdy spring runoffs. When the snowmelt comes from the Snowy Mountain Range that overlooks the valley, chaos ensues with overflowing banks and uprooted trees. But not this year, as low snowpack will limit the flows.
On this trip up the river, we encounter no moose, although signs are abundant on the sandy banks. The patrolling eagles that once viewed the young dog as a dining option are focused today on other prey. Along the banks, beaver signs are everywhere—cut-down trees and new dams. Mink, deer, and owls frequent the area too, but few are visible today as we make our way upstream. I am immersed in a miraculous ecosystem within which I am invisible.
The first dream I can recall was to own a ranch with a river like this, with literally no idea how it could be accomplished. After buying this property, we went to work redoing the barn, fixing up the house, and spending money restoring the river to its original state. It was fun. Expensive. And at times, a burden. The privilege of ownership is often joined by an accompanying weight because things were made to be used and shared rather than compulsively controlled. It was another one of those things that Jesus said that I thought was crazy when I read it as a young man. It seems obvious to me now.
Owning a river? A mountain? Really? The point was never to make it mine but to do what I could to make it better and then hand it over to the next person in line. When you think of it that way, a light-touched ownership can bring life. And so, when we sold a large portion of it last month, I was feeling as much gratitude for what I had experienced as sadness for what I lost. It was time for someone else to step up and do what they thought was best for the land. I had done my part.
When we are younger, we think accumulating things is proof you are winning. Jesus dismisses this notion, saying we were to be stewards rather than owners, something that seems self-evident when you consider the brevity of our lives. Meanwhile, the mountains continue to loom over the valley, and the river continues to flow.
These are all thoughts that churn in my subconscious as I continue walking into the current while throwing flies into the pockets that hold fish. I feel the fatigue in my casting arm and legs as I step out of the river and inhale it for a final time. The sun reflects on the dancing current, the geese are arguing upstream, and cottonwood leaves are twinkling into the stiff westerly breeze while my dog and I share a rare moment of tired contentment as we step up onto the bank.
My heart bursts with gratitude as I release the thing I coveted but was never meant to keep. The lightness in my spirit is noticeable as we make our way home.
Joe Leininger is the founding partner of a private equity business focused on natural resources. He has authored two books and writes a monthly reflection at joeleininger.com.
