Be wild; that is how to clear a river.
-Clarissa Pinkola Estes
The Skagit runs wild and clear. When I was a child, my father was a fly fisherman. I spent hours watching him patiently tie flies and even more watching him fish. I can still hear the graceful whip of the line as he skillfully let it slide through his hand out farther with every motion. I would sit on the shore as he waded out across the sandy bar strewn with water polished stones. The Skagit reminds me most of the days. Not because he fished there particularly, but because it remains today as in my memory of the beautiful Washington rivers: tree-lined shores, smooth stone and sand bars, boulders bending the water to their will.