Gone Fishing

A stumbling start to this infant blog. I must admit that despite how I like summers in the desert--the long days, the quiet streets--this is a time of year I find myself wanting to wait and watch, not do. I'm not alone. Only the most persistent are active, and they start as early as the sun. The rest of us, we hide in the air conditioning until there's a compelling reason to go outside. Or we leave. Those who can afford it leave for the season. Me, I get a sublime week fishing in the mountains in Colorado.

What I like about fishing: the challenge of casting a line into the wind; retrieving a snagged hook; trekking up river over winter-felled trees and rocks looking for that one fishing hole; watching my dog explore the area with his tail flagpole straight until he finds a spot in the sun where he can keep an eye on my husband and me simultaneously. And of course I like eating fresh fish.

I don't like reeling in a fish that's fought the hook deep into it's gills and yet is too small to keep; I hate watching the day's catch flop helpless on the stringer, in the water but unable to swim away into it. Call me a reluctant fisherman.

My husband isn't. He's perfectly happy spending the day trekking his stringer from spot to spot and his contentment pulls me along. Also, I just like being outside all day in an area that's surrounded by water, budding wildflowers, and the distinct possibility of spotting wildlife other than coyotes, pack rats, and rattlesnakes. (Although a well-fed kingsnake was spotted in my front yard while I was gone.)

Fishing's a great way to hide from the heat. However, I know someone who recently took up fishing at a lake just north of Tucson--not what I have in mind when I go fishing. I want the running river ten feet from my door. I want the late afternoon heat to be no more than Tucson's morning breath. And I appreciate the break the most when it comes between Tucson's wildflowers wilting and the monsoons beginning.

But it's here now, monsoon season. The heat is no longer brittle. It's charged with humidity and the current from an oncoming storm. Grass is growing wild, cacti are plump and green, and it's all reminding me that summer, even in arid country, isn't just about hazy heat. It's also about growing. For me that means writing more.