You know immediately when you are in the presence of grace. Perhaps in a cathedral of limestone and jeweled glass where centuries of ritual have left the scent of myrrh. Or, equally so, perhaps in the cleft of a canyon surrounded by high-country mountains where waterfalls arc from cut stone.
Perhaps it’s where — against the roar of fast-moving water — you hear the quiet voices of two men: one of wisdom and one of youth, speaking quietly of water and fish, war and healing, the conversation flowing easily between the two — a common experience binding them.
There is with fly-fishing a serenity that comes, when the mechanics of the process no longer take thought or effort, and the mesmerizing rhythm of a cast settles into mind and memory. When all else slips away, and the fishing becomes the mission in front of you, then comes peace. Or at least, this is what I’m learning.
In late June, Project Healing Waters — a nationwide fly-fishing program for wounded soldiers and veterans — brought 15 participants from Colorado’s Fort Carson and Fort Huachuca in Arizona to fish in the cold spring-melt waters around Silverton. The program is based on the principle of shared time and skill between experienced fly-fishermen and our recently returned soldiers.
Programs vary from region to region, but the basic premise is that during winter months, soldiers are taught to tie flies and build fishing rods, then in the spring and summer months, they are taken out to learn the art of fly-fishing — each component lending itself to a specific method of healing, whether it is learning physical dexterity with damaged limbs or prostheses, or giving soldiers a focus outside their memories or mental trauma.
On the day I was invited to join them, I had the opportunity to witness one of those moments of grace, when a local fisherman and a young soldier shared a conversation. It was not a monumental event, nor was the speech eloquent and tried. Instead, it was simply quiet.
And the young man who had been solemn and withdrawn, moving along the stream bank with his head lowered, opened to a man who had seen his own war 40 years before.
I had been told in my initial interview with Gary Spuhler of Colorado Springs, coordinator of the Rocky Mountain Region’s chapter of PHW, that he got involved because he wanted to make things better for our returning soldiers, better than the way his generation had returned from Vietnam.
And I think the country as a whole, carrying the regret of that treatment, is reaching out more readily to today’s veterans, but listening to the gentle ebb and flow between the two men — the seasoned, high-country fisherman and the young soldier, moving easily from fishing to military life to hope for the future and healing, against the backdrop of broad, sheltering landscapes — I recognized something rare.
We are in a time when Congress is ever trying to decimate protections for our wildlands while at the same time these lands are lending solace to those who have been sent to war in the name of our country. It is not a stretch to say that these rivers and streams are part of what is giving back to the veterans who are coming home.
Each fisherman I spoke with, experienced or beginner, spoke of the sound of the water, the scent of the air, and how the rest of the world falls away when they are out there, taking with it the trauma they carry with them.
There is a healing power that comes from the mountains and streams, and there is healing in taking the time to listen to our military men and women.
Project Healing Waters, combining the two, gives us all a lesson worth learning.
Shawna Bethell writes from Silverton.
