The treble is a 3-pronged hook disguised in meat, beautiful in appearance but deadly and I needed to be saved. So, I began the life of fly-fishing. I had a mentor who touched the subtle sense of the rhythm of the wind on the grace of the water with perfect art. My own attempts were everything that encompassed frustration, anxiety, completeness and fulfillment all wrapped into what he would call, the experience. I watched him, I listened to his instruction; and, over years of imitation and repetition, these words of Norman MacLean felt so true, “My father was very sure about certain matters pertaining to the universe. To him, all good things—trout as well as eternal salvation—come by grace and grace comes by art and art does not come easy.” On my initial cast I was baptized into the waters of the river forever in my heart. This would be and still remains a life within a life for me – one cannot count the number of false casts and presentations. If steel is forged in the furnace, pearls by irritation, diamonds by time and pressure, should relationships – the most precious of all wealth – be cauterized in a single – I love you? Someday, when I make my last cast, I hope that it will be with the subtle sense of the rhythm of the wind on the grace of the water and my name can be called from the great book of fly fishermen. May it be said that I was saved, I am being saved and I hope to be saved. Ain’t it so!