Monday, January 28, 2013

View From The Front Porch-Stan Hitchcock-January 27, 2013

Lord, please keep my fishing memories sharp and crisp, so that I may live and enjoy them again and again.....thank you. Amen

In 1994 my wife, Denise, gave me a fishing trip to the Northwest Territories, in company with my father in law, Duane Thornburg. We spent 7 days that will forever be etched in my memory, as the most wonderful period of time of my life. The adventure, on Lake Kasba, at the edge of the Arctic Circle, began with a fly-in, to land on a postage stamp runway and which I would never do again, except to get to fish. We caught so many huge Lake Trout, Northern Pike and Arctic Grayling that at the end of the day, when you got back to the Lodge, it was all you could do to lift a glass of adult beverage in front of the big fire place and just sit back with a contented smile, and say, "Uh huh, it just don't get no better than this."


That time, spent with the great man who was my father-in-law, was so special, and years after Duane Thornburg has gone to his great reward, I take the memory out and just let it warm me with remembrance. Special times, spent with friends and loved ones, neatly tucked away, "like pictures in a book, I remember every look you gave to me, that's how it would be, if you could see, my memories", to quote a song I recorded 50 years or so ago, for those memories are one of the great gifts of this life.

Yeah, I'm an old guy now, and a lot of the ones that I shared adventures with are gone now, singing buddies, song sharer's, guitar pullers, fish catchers, thrill seekers, hill climbers, creek waders and show stoppers....but, some of them remain, like me, a little rough around the edges, slower on the take off, grayer in the temples....however, all still have a song in their hearts, a gleam in their eyes, an appreciation of all things God has created for us to enjoy and the will to keep in hot pursuit of that tug on the line, the splash as a fish breaks the water with our lure in its mouth, a particular run on the big E string on my Gibson, tuned down in D Tuning or a phrase of a song from long ago. "It's My Memory, It Belongs To Me, If You Look Long Enough, You're Bound To See, What It Means To Me......My Memory."   Stan


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