and rise, from underfoot.
What I stand for
is what I stand on.
Like many anglers, my first exposure to Bob White’s art was through John Gierach’s writing. Then, after years of staring at Bob’s paintings, I finally worked up the courage to ask him for an interview for a story I was writing about art and fly fishing.
“Fire in the hole!” someone hollered, distantly.
Through the pines I heard the unmistakable sound of a skyrocket hissing up, followed by a pair of thunderous reports, one on top of the other, like a double-barrelled elephant gun going off. Two colossal starbursts illuminated the night sky in all the colors of the rainbow, galaxies of lights flaring, crackling, and sizzling before finally winking out.
A chilly autumn breeze filters through white oak leaves. They’re on the cusp of turning from the tired green of late summer to autumn russet. Within the gentle rustles is another sound. This one is not so easily identified.
The cooler mornings and the slowly changing flora across western forests offer folks visiting our public lands some of the best scenery of the year. It’s also maybe the best time of the year to see wildlife while driving into the woods, and for anglers, it’s the season that presents some opportunities to expand their sporting opportunities.