rfgonefishing

For the first nineteen years of my life; my memories are dominated by the sights and sounds of running water. I grew up in three different houses in the small coal community where my father worked as a mine electrician. All three houses were built along the same small mountain creek where I spent every spare minute I could, spring, summer and fall. Winter outings to the creek were strictly forbidden after several of us fell through the ice while playing on one of the larger pools. I'm sure our parents would have banned the annual 1st of March skinny dipping party if they had known about. But then again, maybe not, the ritual was older than anyone could remember. The stream (like hundreds of other streams in West Virginia) was named Laurel Creek and flowed from an abandoned coal mine. Due to acid content from the mine it was to acidic to hold trout but was a great source for bait fish, "crawdabs" and lizards Much time was employed by all catching same to supply our father's bass and catfishing trips to the New River. I learned to bait fish for channel cats from my Dad and Uncles, an activity I still greatly enjoy. Somewhere in my young adult life I learned to fly fish from a book and discovered trout, a species more plentiful in the part of the state in which I now live. When you cast as poorly as I do, the art of fly tying becomes a matter of financial necessity which usually turns into another passion in its self. I had no plans to become an artist but when it happened, it was only natural that fishing became a recurring subject and streams became a favorite landscape theme. A perfect day means fly fishing until I am tired and then setting with my feet in the water with a baited hook (sorry, no purist here) and a sketch book in my lap. If the trip involves a drive over the Highland Scenic Highway to get to the Williams River, so much the better. Much has changed over the last 60 years but the joy of running water and the chance tight lines remains a constant!