I can't trace the fire of my passion for trout back to its exact origin; It has blazed and it has dwindled at various times through the years, but for a long while now there has smoldered at least some small ember, always capable of roaring into an inferno again. This fiery passion has been the impetus for many of the more consequential decisions of my life to this point. As I backtrack down the twisted path of my own life, it becomes more and more apparent what a huge influence my interest in trout has exerted on my course. It seems as though nearly all of the decisions that have given rise to my current position in life were in some way affected by my interest in the natural world, an interest that I attribute back to my earliest memories of enjoying the outdoors and specifically the fascination, connection, and wonderment that I felt when I first learned how to fish.
One of my most vivid and earliest memories of feeling the fire of passion burn me from the inside happened when I was pretty young. It was a nippy autumn morning when my dad woke me up early and announced that we were going to go for a walk. I was mildly confused by the spontaneity of the situation and also by the fact that the weather seemed to me to be less than ideal for a walk. The details of the situation that are lasting in my memory are not of the logistics or the circumstances, the details that fuel my passion are the aesthetic details; specifically, the way that it became so obvious that I could smell color as we ventured down the old dirt road amongst the changing leaves of aspen and willow. Another source of color that I seemed to perceive deeper and more significantly than just with my vision were the rich hues that the spawning trout were displaying at that time of the year. To this day, when I detect certain distinct autumn sensations, I am jolted sharply back to that morning.
Some years later, My dad took me on my first backpacking trip, not far from the location of that brisk fall morning that I so fondly remember. Again the aesthetic details are what remain in my mind from that trip, and the aesthetic details are what provide the fuel for my fiery passion around protecting natural areas. I remember the circles dotting the small beaver ponds, signaling the commencement of the fish's final meal of the day, distorting the reflection of the sun setting behind Mt. Evans. When I attempt to look into myself, search my motives, and discover the source of my worldview I am pleasantly surprised to discover a plethora of these organically aesthetic snapshots.
One of my most vivid and earliest memories of feeling the fire of passion burn me from the inside happened when I was pretty young. It was a nippy autumn morning when my dad woke me up early and announced that we were going to go for a walk. I was mildly confused by the spontaneity of the situation and also by the fact that the weather seemed to me to be less than ideal for a walk. The details of the situation that are lasting in my memory are not of the logistics or the circumstances, the details that fuel my passion are the aesthetic details; specifically, the way that it became so obvious that I could smell color as we ventured down the old dirt road amongst the changing leaves of aspen and willow. Another source of color that I seemed to perceive deeper and more significantly than just with my vision were the rich hues that the spawning trout were displaying at that time of the year. To this day, when I detect certain distinct autumn sensations, I am jolted sharply back to that morning.
Some years later, My dad took me on my first backpacking trip, not far from the location of that brisk fall morning that I so fondly remember. Again the aesthetic details are what remain in my mind from that trip, and the aesthetic details are what provide the fuel for my fiery passion around protecting natural areas. I remember the circles dotting the small beaver ponds, signaling the commencement of the fish's final meal of the day, distorting the reflection of the sun setting behind Mt. Evans. When I attempt to look into myself, search my motives, and discover the source of my worldview I am pleasantly surprised to discover a plethora of these organically aesthetic snapshots.
It is my experience that these memories are often the source of a person's trajectory through life.
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