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What really turned me on to my husband was his one in more than a thousand ability to wake up bright and early and catch his own breakfast.

I was camping at an overnight rock concert when we ran into each other after a couple of years. He’s the cousin of an old friend of mine.  This time, he had a stronger presence about him. Was it age? Maturity? Less drinking and partying? Probably, all of the above.  

I just knew when I said hello to him, I had known him forever and I would know him forever. He was different than anyone else around. I was particularly impressed when, while everyone else was passed out in their tents…He woke up at the break of day, grabbed his fishing pole and went on his way.

Now,  I’ve spent the past 13 years watching my husband fish.  He’s beautiful at it.

He still wakes up very early in the morning.  When the air is fresh and cool.  The light is just brimming over the mountains in the east.  It’s still and quiet, while all of the children are sleeping away in bed.

He brews a pot of coffee. Brushes and shaves, with that sweet smell of sandalwood on his soft face and hovering around the room.  He drives to his favorite fishing spot.

He softly walks out on to the water.  He can see right through the glassy river moving on the top of the surface.  He can see right through to where all the fish are swimming.

He says, “look…right through the movement of the water. See the large shadows that seem to just sit there. Those are the big ones.”

There they were. You have to look real carefully and it helps to have polarized sun-glasses to cut out the glare but, there they are…gliding under the fast moving current, like dark torpedoes hovering to launch.

He ties his hook with a tiny amount of bate and makes a cast.  The lure hit’s the water and make the fish scatter but, when the lure sets…he sits and waits.

He stands still and breaths and tugs on the line. The wind blows across the water. The birds call in the trees. The water washes over the rocks pulling our thoughts along with it.  We stand and wait.

The fish are moving effortlessly around searching for a bite. They cant help it. It’s the smell seeping through the water. It’s the wiggle, tempting it to chase.

He spots a large one creep up on his hook. The fish stops and watches the bate. He gives the line a little tug and then, makes it float. A little tug….and float….a little tug…and float. A tug…and the fish swoops in and bites.

He gives the rod a quick jerk, setting the hook. He starts to reeling in the fish in gently, working it side to side.  Swimming the fish in closer and closer until it can rest in his soft net.

He picks it up around the belly so he doesn’t hurt the scales or fins. He looks at the fish, assessing its health and color.   It’s brilliantly iridescent with all the colors of the river.  He measures it and sometimes, he’ll take a picture.

Then, like a surgeon, he uses his forceps and gently pulls the hook from the soft side of the fishes mouth.  Almost like gently sliding an earring out of an ear.

He gently places the fish back in the water, guiding it back and forth to force the water back through its gills. The fish calmly swims away.

He turns back to look at me with a small smile on his face.  His eyes are glistening and gleaming. You can see the joy shining out from those eyes.  In them, I see calm controlled chaos bursting out of his eyes.  Life.

I love that about him.