“At Black Root River” by Sara Robinson
While it is very early Spring
along the frozen edges of
Black Root River, an angler
of quite some age, sitting on
a large stone rock, having
found a dry spot free of
brown snow and mostly level,
picks through her fly box.
It’s an old banged up relic
(not too unlike her) but
still useful and from her 20s.
A gift from her grandpa
who fished this same river
from almost this same spot
a thousand times though
not this early a Spring.
It is still very cold & it will
still snow this day but this
spot is so special she planned
all winter for it. This is the day
she has hiked here without
snow shoes, only her boots.
The water has frozen edges
& cutthroat have not emerged.
There are no caddis or mayflies
yet & most lives are still sleeping
under rocks covered by last Fall’s
aspen leaves & few sunken logs.
The mountains hold forth their winter
capes which hang down ridges like
watchful bathers clothed in white
chenille bathrobes. Except for no
steam rooms to warm old bones.
It is still too cold on the river to
produce even fog much less
warming mist. It is so not Spring.
Our old angler builds a fire next
to her rustic patched Army canvas
tent, & both look like worn-out
battle warriors. Yet the tent holds.
Too late in the day for fish, but
not so late to drink. She pulls on her flask
of Old Forester sucking a nice draw &
looks skyward. Sees a comet. Says to
the river that’s my sign, & tomorrow
I will fish for the trout, the brown ones.
Little ones, big ones, striped ones, spotted,
enough to fry for an evening dinner. She is done.
In her pack she finds her filet knife & it’s
plenty sharp, too, with its well-worn buckhorn
handle. Fish are stripped in minutes. Guts
back to the river for the crayfish maybe.
Late in the dying night next to her drift boat
soft waves break against stacked rotted pallets
which she had laid down as a simple dock
about four years ago during a similar Spring.
She remembers, as she inhales her Lucky Strike,
last Summer when a pair of loons hassled her
for some dried corn. She knew they knew
she kept it for the old marmot couple who
lived in a downed hollowed-out oak nearby.
Satisfied, she & they made their bedding
down preparations. She with her bedroll,
they swimming off with their evensong.
Simple satisfactions for her day as she
fell asleep to their soulful music. Wind
tickled the tent lines in a sweet hum.
Now in this Spring when she rises from
her same tattered bedroll, she feels the same
old cold & sets her cook stove to flame.
The river is still dark blue. Still cold.
But as the sun rises, she knows that
trout will, too. Caddis flies will emerge.
Not as fast as she would like, but then
she has her supply of nymphs & subs.
She oils her line, she unrolls her waders,
she checks her creel, packs an apple
in her vest. Checks her socks, yes dry,
& her gloves, dry, too. Her hat, well,
it’s her lucky hat, but mostly it’s warm.
Rod, reel, flies, vest, creel, thus armed
she wades. She waits in the dark, slow water,
watches for any signs of swirl, & sight of
a tail breaching. She loves trout. She loves their
freedom. She loves their nature. She loves them
so much for how long they have lived. She loves
them for how much more they know than her.
She lets them go in hopes they will survive
to bring more the next season when she returns.
Looking upstream, she wishes she were that loved.
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Sara Robinson Artist Statement:
I create poetry using metaphors I create from the art of tying flies for angling. I draw from conversations and readings words to enhance my own word smithing. My career formed my desire to give back to nature what humans have taken from it. I consider myself a poet, playwright, humanist, philanthropist, and activist in my local world.
My writing and creative parts define a person who I believe I was meant to be. As a former industrial chemist, and marketer in the minerals mining industries, I saw things. Now I want to write in such a way that while part of my psyche wants to make amends, my charity allows me to actually do something. My poetry book, Needville, and its subsequent play have given me a forum to do this.
