Nest building at Dale's Pothole
I always want to be cool with fishing. I love the process - especially fly fishing. It's a great excuse to get out in beautiful terrain and be quiet. The rhythm of casting is so calming and peaceful - until there is a snag, of course.
At Caverhill Lodge, way the hell up in Canada, I caught a pretty good-sized fish. The hook got stuck in its throat, drawing blood. After struggling to get the hook out, it's rainbow belly glistened in the sun as it rose to the top of the water. My Dad tried to convince me that it was only floating like that temporarily and it would be ok, but I was done. No more fishing for me.
The beauty of the area was unreal; there was plenty else to do. I'd been wanting to build a human-sized nest all summer. I've been spending a lot of time away from the computer, but did find a few minutes to check out some nest building bird videos on YouTube to get some ideas of where to start.
My Dad and Brother floated out in the lake to fish. I went to work on the shore. I hardly noticed all the knicks and cuts collecting on my legs and hands. This process, like fishing, was meditative, peaceful, and challenging.
I had completed most of the base when my Dad and brother came in. There had been some concern I might be bored. Ha!
On each hike the rest of the week, I collected dark moss and carried it back to Dale's pothole to complete the window.
A bird tutor is probably needed to build a nest that is structurally sound enough to hold a human, but the light moving around through the crossing sticks was incredibly beautiful. A sense of accomplishment washed over. Looking over my shoulder to get one more glimpse, I was happy to leave it there.