When the Time Is Right

Story and Photos by Roger D. Blew

There’s a place I go when I need to clear my mind, refocus, contemplate a decision, or lick my wounds. For whatever reason I go, the result is usually a healing of mind and heart. 

I first visited this place while carrying a fly rod twenty years ago. In the years since, I’ve found myself drawn back there when I’m troubled or in need of some kind of resolution. Whether as an outward excuse to go or simply as part of the ritual of the place, I always have a fly rod in hand, even though fishing isn’t why I go there.  

It had been a long time since I’d thought about the place and even longer since I’d been there. Perhaps it was a sign that my life had become too comfortable, or that I’d lost touch with the part of me that first knew the place. But then I suddenly felt the call to go back. Without planning, as soon as the notion took hold, I grabbed my fly rod, a small box of flies, and was gone. I simply knew I had to be there. 

One of the things that brings me back to this place is the solitude. It’s nestled up against Yellowstone National Park on the Idaho side and, ironically, that may be the reason it’s so quiet. It’s hidden in the shadow of all things Yellowstone, forgotten among the many rivers with greater names nearby. For the price of a short hike, I can likewise become hidden and forgotten.