Some fly fishing spots, particularly on small streams, are so vulnerable you know you should keep them to yourself. But it’s hard not to say something, even if you have to obscure a few details. “No Name Creek, ” in Big Sky Journal’s Summer 2019 issue, is my story about returning to one of those secret spots–where you would least expect it–after a fire. The magazine should be available at newsstands any day now.
I still have to ask myself: Is that little gorge secret because it’s special, or special because it’s secret? I guess the answer to both questions is “yes.” So I’m not telling. Fortunately for you, the best places are the ones you find for yourself. So grab your maps, download Google Earth, and start looking for your own secret fly fishing spot. You don’t have to tell me where it is.
I spent most of my twenties working for the National Park Service, and I lived in a wide variety of government housing, including several shabby but appealing old houses where the wild creatures outnumbered human inhabitants. Sometimes I wondered, lying awake at night, how many hearts beat inside those walls. With all that lovely national park habitat protected for their use, why did the animals need to live in my house? Or my office?
My latest essay in the Christian Science Monitor, “The indoor wilds at outdoor parks,” revisits my experiences with wild (non-human!) roommates and officemates in Rocky Mountain National Park. At the time, they were considered annoying but not dangerous. Attitudes changed dramatically when hantavirus came on the scene, and suddenly those cute, non-housebroken deer mice became a threat. When I moved on to Canyonlands National Park, I found that every effort had been made to seal off my double-wide from four-footed intruders. These efforts mostly worked (and later employees moved into rodent-free new housing). But somehow a packrat still managed to chew its way through the floor and drown itself in my toilet. I’m not even going to get started about my coworkers’ experiences with skunks and scorpions.
About the visitor center in the story . . . the Beaver Meadows Visitor Center was designed by Taliesin Associated Architects, Frank Lloyd Wright’s firm, after Wright’s death. Working there, I always thought the building was a bit of an oddball. But in my defense, I had previously worked out of a fort and a log cabin. I recently revisited the building while researching a children’s book I am writing about the park. I think I get it now, at least a little.
I’ve always loved dog stories, but not the ones like “Old Yeller” where the dog dies in the end. I promise that no dogs are harmed in my latest story, “Poetry Appreciation for Dogs,” which was just published in the Christian Science Monitor. The photo that accompanies the story is by Keri Petrilli, a friend of mine (and Scout’s).
Julie Lue 