Thursday, March 16, 2017
Very sorry for the Millers. Any man who can raise a son to the quality of Brent Miller did well.
"Now nearly all those I loved and did not understand when I was young are gone, but I still reach out to them. Of course, now I am too old to be much of a fisherman, and now of course I usually fish the big waters alone, although some friends think I shouldn't. Like many fly fishermen in Western Montana where the summer days are nearly arctic in length, I often do not start fishing until the cool of the evening. Then in the arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades into a being with my soul and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise. Eventually all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters." Norman Maclean.
Thank you Brent.
Scott
