this is a story about a girl, her boat, and her truck...

Photo credit: Steve Oualline 

Before we get too committed to this story, let's reverse time and travel back 12 months. I'm sitting in a cramped sardine can traveling westward with thoughts of arid landscapes burdened with the weight of the scorching sun, spending months traveling along a dirt path filled with angry plants and hungry mountain lions. I planned to take it one step at a time with the constant reminder that I'm stronger than I think. Three days into the trek my body refused to cooperate. My left ribs screamed under the weight of 6 liters of water and 20 lbs of food and gear. I had failed. Two years of planning reduced to three days on trail. 

We rented a car, selected a series of national parks we've always wanted to visit, and slowly convinced our defeated selves that it would get better. Mount Shasta was inundated with snow so we set our sights on Utah. Briefly stopped in Redding, CA to return a gift to Mike Mercer, who works at the Fly Shop. Mike provided a boron 3x 5 wgt fly rod, flies, tippet, and local river knowledge.  The following day, during the fly tying expo held at the sundial bridge, I had guest speakers interrogate me in regards to fly patterns and techniques while fishing the Sacramento. I needed this. I may have not been strong enough to continue my long distance hiking lifestyle, but this moment helped fuel an internal passion that began as a child. 

After a quick trip through Arches, we drove late into the night to camp by the mecca of dry fly-fishing: the Green below Flaming Gorge Reservoir.  Mesmerizing. Life-changing. Clear water meandering through red, sandstone cliffs. Browns. Beautiful, healthy browns casually sipping tiny mayflies off the surface. I didn't want to leave this place, this moment. 

I didn't. Trout Creek Flies generously offered me a position in the fly shop for the season. This simultaneously postpone my embarrassing homecoming from my failed hike and allowed me the opportunity to inudate myself in all things fly-fishing. During this time, I shared my goal of competing nationally in fly-fishing with a coworker in the shop. Our discussion led to the thought of using my teaching background and combining it with my passion to fish. I could ruin many a people  with fly-fishing just like I had for over a decade with students in areas involving all things biological. I could become a fly-fishing guide. The seed had been planted! 

There were several hurdles before this idea could completely develop into reality. I needed to learn how to row a drift boat...I mean, really row it. Maintain long, drag-free drifts rowing. Not just a recreational row, row, row your boat. There was nothing gentle about this approach to fishing. Also, I'd need to own a boat in order to row a boat. There's also that pesky problem of moving the boat around off water. Could I find another truck of awesomeness? I never found the border  of Canada while walking on foot. Would I be able to find the strength to row hard for miles each and every day? Would my body fail me a second time? 

To answer these questions, I need to tell you a story about a girl, her boat, and her truck. She guides on the Green running Western Rivers Flyfisher stickers. She is strong. She intends to ruin you. She wants you to read water rather than simply admiring the ebbs and flows. She wants you driven to look for the bugs and correctly identify them rather than being fearful of your six-legged friends.  She wants you excited to be outside rather than being content in a four-walled cubicle. She wants you intuned with each movement of air, scent released by neighboring plants, change in the temperature, and naturally produced sound. She wants you to respect nature and understand that we are merely a part of this great universe. She wants you to feel alive and strong. To be independent and confident. And she wants to put you on fish. 

This blog is her story.