float in a coastal rainforest where my father came to appreciate my skill as an oarsman and experience the rivers restorative power. When I look on these sacred places and consider that in my lifetime, they may not have the flows to support fish or could be desecrated by mining operations and pipelines I become profoundly discouraged.
Recently I was expressing this concern with a close friend who has spent his life in Maryland, unaware of the fly-fishing subculture that is steelhead fishing. Aaron, never one to parse words, lives to assume the role of “the devil’s advocate.” Not to be contentious or petty; but because in testing others’ logic he ignites the sort of intensity that generates discovery and moments of clarity. He pushes, “so in the scheme of the world’s problems, losing one species of fish is pretty small.”
I ignite. “You don’t fucking get it! It’s like I’m losing my religion.” After we finish laughing that I have found a context for an R.E.M. lyric, one of the most cryptic bands of all time, he continues.