Before Fly Fishing
by Andy Stager
Before you pulled us from the dust,
Before there was dust,
You spoke into the primordial stew,
And drew the waters back
To craft dry land.
You spread your expanse above
And pushed rock up and up.
You planned for granite and basalt
To catch and release
Its mammoth snowpack.
You gathered headwaters.
You sent creeks cascading from cliff faces.
You told them to accumulate
Into streams that host bright trout.
I spent the week in town
Three thousand feet below, hand-to-plow.
As you know, it was a mix of doubt and diligence,
My head down, hoping to keep up.
Now I stand on the bank, rod rigged,
Net stuffed in my wading belt,
Taking in the ancient surround—
A whole geological theater,
A stage teeming with living things.
I see a mayfly on the film.
It dries its wings.
I know a cutthroat must be just below,
Eager to feast.
As I bring my own biology, my history,
knee-deep into the stream, I’d like your smile.
It seems ridiculous
To seek a blessing for my silly game.
But I could use a strong tug,
A connection to something
Going on down deep.
A surge of adrenaline,
Of dopamine, then
The serenity of serotonin.
A dumb grin, and a legit fish tale—
A rag I can spin as I’m driving
Down the mountain in the dark.
Something that’ll tickle the wife and kids,
Impress the gents at our corner pub.
A story I don’t have to craft from nothing.
Andy Stager is from Ohio, and has lived in South Carolina, Korea, and Switzerland, and now resides with his family in the West Wash Park neighborhood of Denver, where he is a pastor, writer, and fly fishing guide. With a PhD in divinity and a DMin in the sacred art of writing, he especially enjoys composing and reading poetry and memoir. Andy offers free guided fly fishing experiences for pastors with Pastors Monday.
