My very clever wife made this very special christmas gift. The two small horns are Lily’s puppy teeth.
The simple things really are the best!
fly fishing, conservation and politics.
By Tom Sadler
My very clever wife made this very special christmas gift. The two small horns are Lily’s puppy teeth.
The simple things really are the best!
By Tom Sadler
By Tom Sadler
“Let us remember that, as much has been given us, much will be expected from us, and that true homage comes from the heart as well as from the lips, and shows itself in deeds.”
-Theodore Roosevelt, Thanksgiving, 1903
By Tom Sadler
This week I got a note from Mark Greer, asking me to help pay tribute to his late son Anthony, who was an avid fly fisherman and a guide on the Green River in Utah. He included an essay written by Anthony, some photos of Anthony, and an article by Tom Wharton of the Salt Lake Tribune.
“Anthony had hoped to see one of his essays published. “The River” speaks to those of us who have spent time fishing, floating or sitting next to running water,” wrote Wharton.
Mark asked that I post The River on Father’s Day. I am delighted to do so. My own father is no longer alive but I know he would have liked this essay. As Anthony would have said, “Enjoy.”
The River
Where does one venture when the responsibilities of life weigh heavy upon the mind? The answer, of course, is very simple. We go to where no others bother to look. The places we visit, time after time after time. The River.
She’s always there. Always willing to share her bounty to the dedicated. The few. The ones who got the ‘bug’ early, and have never ceased to stop the quest for knowledge. The River, although a temptress at times, never ceases to amaze, and even if she takes your breath away … we always find ourselves coming back for more.
This, my friends, is not passion, hobby or sport. It cannot as easily be summed in those words. In a few enlightened anglers’ minds lies an addiction so deep, I dare say, that even after a lifetime of angling they would begin to feel ‘satisfied’.
Or maybe these are just the rants of one lone fish bum?
By Tom Sadler
As a hunter I confront the finality of my action each time I kill an animal. Each time, every time. It is a soul searching pause that is never easy.
When I was introduced to hunting by my father he instilled in me a deep and abiding appreciation for the fish, fowl and animals I would take. He made me pause to honor and thank them for the sustenance they would provide my family, or friends or me.
I have often searched for an explanation for the honor of the hunt. I think I found it.
“And that is the thing about real hunters. Real hunters love the animals they kill. It is not about trophies, or ego, or dominance. For real hunters, the life they take is already a part of them, and when they take that life, they do so with reverence and awe and the understanding that being struck down cleanly, without pain or suffering, is a far better end than any creature usually has the privilege of meeting.”
That passage is from Allison Glock’s wonderful tale, First Shot, in Garden & Gun. She writes of her first hunt for a turkey with hunting legend Jay Walea. The story is about a first timer, Walea’s skill as a turkey hunting and in the end it captured for me, that elusive explanation above. Her story ends fittingly with;
“We say grace. We toast the gobbler. And then we pass the plate. I do not hesitate. I honor his death with appreciation. And extra gravy.”
A toast to hunters, hunting and the cycle of life.
By Tom Sadler
The world is a complicated place and the people who make up our world can be even more complicated and frankly, some days, pretty hard to understand. Often we see things from our point of view and forget to look at it from the other person’s perspective. A good friend shared this story shared this on facebook this morning. Lots to learn here. Enjoy.
A farmer had some puppies he needed to sell. He painted a sign advertising the 4 pups and set about nailing it to a post on the edge of his yard. As he was driving the last nail into the post, he felt a tug on his overalls. He looked down into the eyes of a little boy.
“Mister,” he said, “I want to buy one of your puppies.”
“Well,” said the farmer, as he rubbed the sweat off the back of his neck, “These puppies come from fine parents and cost a good deal of money.”
The boy dropped his head for a moment. Then reaching deep into his pocket, he pulled out a handful of change and held it up to the farmer.
“I’ve got thirty-nine cents. Is that enough to take a look?”
“Sure,” said the farmer. And with that he let out a whistle. “Here, Dolly!” he called.
Out from the doghouse and down the ramp ran Dolly followed by four little balls of fur.
The little boy pressed his face against the chain link fence. His eyes danced with delight. As the dogs made their way to the fence, the little boy noticed something else stirring inside the doghouse.
Slowly another little ball appeared, this one noticeably smaller. Down the ramp it slid.. Then in a somewhat awkward manner, the little pup began hobbling toward the others, doing its best to catch up…
“I want that one,” the little boy said, pointing to the runt. The farmer knelt down at the boy’s side and said, “Son, you don’t want that puppy. He will never be able to run and play with you like these other dogs would.”
With that the little boy stepped back from the fence, reached down, and began rolling up one leg of his trousers.
In doing so he revealed a steel brace running down both sides of his leg attaching itself to a specially made shoe.
Looking back up at the farmer, he said, “You see sir, I don’t run too well myself, and he will need someone who understands.”
With tears in his eyes, the farmer reached down and picked up the little pup.
Holding it carefully he handed it to the little boy.
“How much?” asked the little boy… “No charge,” answered the farmer, “There’s no charge for love.”
The world is full of people who need someone who understands.