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Until There Are No More Springs

Writer's picture: Allen CraterAllen Crater

Updated: Mar 11, 2024


Fly angler wading in the river

The first grey hues of dusk begin to settle in, like a house guest who finally unpacks and eases into a comfy chair to share conversation and an unhurried cocktail.


There are bugs in the thick, damp air. Air that forever in my mind recollects June in Michigan. But they are still hovering high.


I wait patiently on the bank and burn a cigarette. Tendrils of slate-blue smoke curl up and hang heavy just above my head. It reminds me of the mist that used to linger over the lake when dad would wake me up early to search for largemouth that patrolled the Lily pads.


The mayflies seem hung up too, or maybe I'm just projecting.


I wait a little longer. Perhaps in vain, I worry. Once again looking to the sky for answers, as is habit among anglers.


Fly angler waiting for hatch on shore

But eventually the ritual begins; spinners dot the diffused horizon, first a few, and then more, and then hundreds. Quick copulation, like an inmate's final conjugal visit – celebrating fleeting out-of-water freedom before they fall, their sentences served. Mating and dying. A beginning, an ending, and a beginning again. The cycle repeats, like phases of the moon or the changing of one season to the next, until there are no more springs.


Noses break the slick surface in subtle rings, as life expired becomes life nourished. I slip quietly into the water and tease out a measure of line.


The river wraps around my feet like the silky loop of a lariat and whispers "this way.”

So I follow.


Her cool touch seeps through, and I shiver.


Fireflies wink on and off, on and off. Coded messages sent into the distant future from eight-year-old me, only to be deciphered at this exact moment.


Here, in the river, I find myself looking through younger eyes with wonder and anticipation too often lost.


Here, alone with my thoughts, the mesmerizing thrum of wild places still quickens the senses. The vitality of life and inevitable certainty of death witnessed with clarity.


F:y angler looking at river from the bank

I contemplate my own brief existence. How I will eventually return to the soil and the grass and the bugs and the trout and the river.


I think to the future and wonder what this special place will hold for my own children and their children and their children's children. What will become of this tender river and the solace found only here in her embrace?


I make a few casts to a rising fish, miss, and light another cigarette.


Satisfied I pack up, take one last longing look, and walk out.


Fireflies send their coded messages and I nod. Until there are no more springs, I have the river.


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2 Comments


smithwickfamily
May 18, 2023

Really, really enjoying your book. Wonderful literature and a gift to be with your adventures. Well done.

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Allen Crater
Allen Crater
May 18, 2023
Replying to

Thank you so much 🙏🏼

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Allen fly fishing at night
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About Me

I’m a husband and father of two adult sons who frequently out hunt, out hike, and out fish me. 

 

By day I run an advertising agency located in my home state of Michigan where I enjoy chasing whitetail, trout, and birds. Beyond Michigan you'll often find me roaming the backcountry of Montana, Colorado, Idaho, or Wyoming. 

 

I was a founding member and co-chair of the Michigan Chapter of Backcountry Hunters and Anglers and currently serve as Vice President for Pere Marquette Trout Unlimited. I am an active member of the Outdoor Writers Association of America, the Association of Great Lakes Outdoor Writers,  and the Michigan Outdoor Writers Association.

I'm honored to be an Editor at Large and regular contributor to Strung Sporting Journal and pen a quarterly feature for Michigan Out-of-Doors Magazine. Additionally my writing has found its way into Gray's Sporting JournalFly FisherFly Fusion, Upland Almanac, the Tom Beckbe Field Journal, Solace, and Backcountry Journal You can find my first book, Outside in Shorts – an award-winning collection of 29 short essays – here, and my newest book, For Everything There is a Season, here.

I love great food, great beer, and great wine – sometimes in moderation, sometimes not. More than anything I love the outdoors. I love the smells, the sounds, the sights. Since I was a little boy fishing with my dad, pitching a pup tent in the backyard, and unwrapping pocketknives for Christmas I’ve been drawn to all things wild. 

Drop me a note at allen@stevensinc.com

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