Zen and Frazier
The brisk morning was frustrating and unforgiving for the struggling fisherman Frazier. He struggled within as jealously welled up inside him as his comrades caught and landed numerous rainbow trout. Valiantly he tied on various flies and flailed the water without success. The trout of the Rocky Ford would not give him the respect he thought he deserved.
Respect is not earned at Rocky Ford Creek. Respect is not given at Rocky Ford Creek. Rocky Ford Creek is respect.
We moved on from the lower stretches of The Creek. We meandered upstream to a vocal bend. The song it sings is one of letting go, of being one in the moment. Frazier resigns himself to being in the moment. Frazier ties a new fly on. Frazier casts several times. Frazier presents his fly. Frazier hooks a fish. Frazier thinks about landing it. Frazier loses his prize.
The Rocky Ford Creek is about one thing, and one thing only. The moment. There is no past, no future, no planning on this water.
Frazier hops out to a bolder in the middle of the bend. The song of The Creek is still singing its song letting go. Frazier casts. Nothing more is in his mind. He feels the arc of the rod, the snap of the line as he lets go. His fly kisses the surface of the water. She bites. The rod, the fish, the fisherman, and The Creek are one.
Frazier lands his fish.
