I would have shared this yesterday, but I used the excuse of another transit around the sun to indulge in avoiding things I didn’t want to do, ignoring some daily rituals, eating what I wanted, and enjoying some time unencumbered by responsibility. It was glorious and enlightening.

In the run-up to that milestone, I’ve been reflecting on my life to date and doing some thinking about the future.

Last month I informed the president of the Marine Fish Conservation Network board that I will retire at the end of the year.

“I have enjoyed working on marine policy more than I can convey and my time with the Network, especially this last eight months as CEO, has been both rewarding and fulfilling.

“In July, I’ll be 72, and at the end of 2026 I’ll have worked for the Network for 10 years. While I’d like to think I could work for 10 more years, I’d rather go fishing instead. Edward Abbey advice to his colleagues is ringing in my ears:

‘One final paragraph of advice: do not burn yourselves out. Be as I am — a reluctant enthusiast....a part-time crusader, a half-hearted fanatic. Save the other half of yourselves and your lives for pleasure and adventure. It is not enough to fight for the land; it is even more important to enjoy it. While you can. While it’s still here. So get out there and hunt and fish and mess around with your friends, ramble out yonder and explore the forests, climb the mountains, bag the peaks, run the rivers, breathe deep of that yet sweet and lucid air, sit quietly for a while and contemplate the precious stillness, the lovely, mysterious, and awesome space. Enjoy yourselves, keep your brain in your head and your head firmly attached to the body, the body active and alive, and I promise you this much; I promise you this one sweet victory over our enemies, over those desk-bound men and women with their hearts in a safe deposit box, and their eyes hypnotized by desk calculators. I promise you this; You will outlive the bastards.’

Truth be told, I’d rather ‘ramble out yonder’ for the next few years and outlive a few bastards.”

So, there’s that. Bit of a door opener.

It’s been noted that the two most important days of your life are the day you are born and the day you find out why. Cliché as it is, it is, for me, at this stage, a good reminder to recognize the things that are important in what time I have left to enjoy them.

Which leads me to ikigai.

The term “Ikigai” came up in a meditation session. It roughly translates to “a reason for being.” It hit home, especially as I’m cogitating on the future.

While there are popular-culture interpretations, what struck me was the notion of doing things of my choosing.

As Jason Isbell sings, “Are you living the life you chose, or are you living the life that chose you?”

Since I left college in 1976, it’s been pretty much living a life that chose me. No regrets frankly. I’ve been fortunate. And truth be told I did a fair amount of choosing. But that ikigai was financially oriented and career driven. I was trying to get somewhere.

The new one is not. Now I’ll be happy to be somewhere.

Across the top from left to right:

• A collapsible magnet wand. Useful when I drop a fly.

• a spare pair of hemostats. These are adorned with a few bobbers in case they get dropped. They also have a cutter and a flathead screwdriver.

• A pocket knife. Comes in handy when rescuing an errant fly.

• A Fishpond Riverkeeper Digital Thermometer. Knowing stream temps is good fieldcraft. It’s on an old Flyvines lanyard so it doesn’t get lost.

Across the bottom from left to right:

• Spools of tippet. Spares or odd sized diameters.

• A fly puck full of strike indicators. Yes, I abhor them, but they have their use.

• A box of various weights of split shot. For those down and dirty days.

Not shown:

• A three-pack of leaders.

• A spare Fishpond Barracuda Nipper.

Lanyards

I’ve been using a lanyard since my early guiding days. It keeps the essentials handy. Last year I upgraded to a Yakoda Lanyard.

It holds:

• Fishpond Barracuda Nipper.

• Desiccant powder fly flotant. Either Frog’s Fanny or Loon Blue Ribbon.

• Talwego Fly Roost. Wasn't sure about this tool, but I’m using it more and more.

• My Navy dog tag. It’s a talisman.

The other lanyard is the KOALA 2.0 Smartphone Harness. I use my phone for two things when I fish, land navigation and photos. And yes, I drop it. The leash keeps it close by when that happens. I extended the scope with another old Flyvines lanyard.

Both lanyards get stowed in the smaller of the two back pockets in my vest when I finish up a trip.

BLUF: It works, has more pros than cons and has earned a place in the gear locker.

As you can see, the typical load out includes some modifications:

· Replaced the sheepskin fly patch with a foam patch

· Hung a tippet spool holder

· Hung a Garmin inReach Mini

· Added a couple of Cling Mag Grabs

· Hung a Fishpond Emerger net on the back (not pictured)

The half-mesh, half-fabric, construction is rugged, showing little wear and tear after three years. It rides high and fits well with good load distribution. It has plenty of storage for fly boxes and accessories in the front and interior zippered pockets. The back has two zippered pockets, one full-length and on half-length.

The stretch-fabric horizontal side panels form a continuous side and rear pocket. Useful for quickly stowing items between uses. Patagonia says you can stow a water bottle in there, which I’ve done, but it’s awkward to reach. A better configuration would be a vertical pocket designed for a water bottle. I opt for a separate water bottle holder on my belt.

As I wrote in the first article, “I run hot and cold on vests, slings, hip packs, you name it. I’ve tried a bunch and I continue my Goldilocks quest for ‘just right.’”

This vest is not that, but it’s the best so far.

Some highlights from the conversation:

• Why the magic of working in fisheries is that instead of saying “no”, it’s “yes, with some boundaries”.

• The tension involved in the relationship between fishermen and scientists, since fishermen are experts in finding exactly where the fish are and catching as many as possible, while science is trying to find exactly how many fish there actually are.

• Why the Magnuson Stevens Act is fundamentally optimistic, since it looks at a wild ecosystem and saying “we can get this right.”

• How if we can get the balance right, the MSA can help us live somewhat gently on top of the ecosystem but still benefit from it. Fisheries are the only large-scale wild ecosystem we have a food source!

• Why the current council system may not be perfect, but it gives a voice to people who are invested in the industry.

And as always, much much more!

ABOUT WATERSIDE CHATS

The Network’s Waterside Chat online discussion series connects people who depend on healthy oceans and fisheries with the issues that directly affect them and their communities. In each edition, I talk with guests about current ocean policy and fisheries management topics and what policy decisions mean for people’s livelihoods, communities, recreation, and coastal ways of life.

• Sign up for the Network’s email list to learn about future Waterside Chats

A version of this article first appeared in the Marine Fish Conservation Network’s “From the Waterfront” blog.

This year’s World Ocean Day hits a little differently. It falls in the 50th anniversary year of the Magnuson-Stevens Fishery Conservation and Management Act, the law that transformed how this country manages its fisheries and set us on a path toward healthier oceans.

The ocean provides food, livelihoods, and a natural infrastructure that supports life far beyond the water’s edge, moderating our climate, generating oxygen, and sustaining biodiversity. World Ocean Day is a reminder that all of it depends on what we choose to protect. It’s worth pausing to recognize what we have accomplished, but it’s also worth thinking about what comes next.

This year, the MSA’s 50th anniversary compels us to ask: Have we chosen well? And will we choose well in the future?

In 1976, President Gerald Ford signed the bipartisan Fishery Conservation and Management Act into law. At the time, foreign fleets were fishing U.S. waters nearly unchecked, domestic fish stocks were in serious trouble, and there was no coherent national framework for managing the fisheries American communities depended on.

That law changed everything. It created the opportunity for a better future for our oceans.

Over the next three decades, Congress was persuaded to strengthen it, including adding the science-based conservation mandates that gave the law its teeth. The results speak for themselves. Dozens of fish populations once on the brink have been restored. Essential fish habitat has been identified and protected. Forage species — the small, abundant fish that anchor marine food webs — have received greater recognition and protection under federal management. Today, the United States is home to one of the most effective fisheries management systems in the world.

That success has delivered economic results too: $319 billion in total economic activity and 2.1 million jobs. But the economic benefits relied on the conservation ones. Healthy fish populations and functioning ocean ecosystems came first. Everything else followed.

That did not happen by accident. It happened because fishermen, scientists, conservationists, anglers, and coastal communities stayed at the table and demanded better.

Marine Fish Conservation Network: Coming Together for Ocean Conservation

The Marine Fish Conservation Network was built for exactly this work. Conservation is more than part of our name — it’s our mandate. The Network was founded to conserve our oceans, marine habitats, ecosystems, and fish populations for the long-term benefit of the environment, coastal communities, and family fishermen. That has been true since our founding, and it remains true today.

What makes MFCN different is how we do it. Our coalition brings commercial fishermen, recreational anglers, conservation organizations, seafood businesses, aquaria, and marine scientists to the same table. That is not easy. These interests do not always agree. But when they do reach consensus, through our Network Policy Council’s rigorous internal process, the result is policy that is pragmatic, durable, and credible with lawmakers. When commercial fishermen and conservation groups speak together, policymakers take notice.

That coalition model has produced real outcomes. We have actively defended NOAA Fisheries’ funding and scientific capacity, engaging Senate leaders directly on what is at stake for the health of our oceans, not just our industry. We have advanced policy on bycatch reform, working waterfronts, fisheries data accountability, and the protection of essential fish habitat and forage species. We have pushed to integrate climate science into fisheries management, because the ocean our children inherit will not be the same ocean we know today, and management that ignores that reality will fail them.

We know depleted fish stocks hurt fishermen first. But degraded ocean ecosystems hurt everyone. Sustainable use and conservation are not competing goals; they are the same goal. That is the lens through which we do everything.

We have risen to the challenge, but our work is far from done. The threats to our ocean ecosystems and fisheries are real and growing. Bycatch — fish and other marine life caught unintentionally and discarded, often dead — remains one of the most persistent and damaging problems in U.S. fisheries. Forage fish, such as the sardines, anchovies, herring, and sand lance that feed everything from tuna to whales to seabirds, need stronger, more consistent protection. Essential fish habitat, including the nurseries and feeding grounds that sustain fish populations, faces ongoing pressure from development, pollution, and a changing climate.

Climate change cuts across all of it. Warming waters, shifting currents, and ocean acidification are changing the ranges, timing, and abundance of fish populations in ways that challenge every assumption our management systems were built on. An ocean that looks different from the one the MSA was designed to manage requires us to adapt and to do so based on the best available science.

Cause for despair? No. It is cause for action.

Magnuson-Stevens Act Today and Beyond

The Magnuson-Stevens Act gives us the tools. Now we need to sharpen them. That means upgrading how we collect and use fisheries data. It means genuine bycatch reform, moving past vague standards and toward real accountability and better monitoring. It means stronger protections for forage species and essential fish habitat. And it means giving NOAA Fisheries the stable funding and scientific independence it needs to do its job, because without that, everything else is harder.

These are not abstract policy arguments. They are the conditions that will determine whether our ocean ecosystems remain healthy enough to sustain the fisheries, communities, and marine life that depend on them.

Ken Hinman, a founding member of this Network, put it this way: the challenge is “to hold on to the gains of the past while adapting to meet the needs of the future.”

That is exactly where we stand today.

The MSA’s 50th anniversary is more than a celebration. It is an inflection point, a unique opportunity to make the public case for why strong, science-based federal fisheries law matters, what it has achieved, and what is at stake if we lose ground. We need to harness our collective wisdom and experience and find new ways to address the challenges ahead.

For 50 years, our federal fisheries management system has been shaped by people with firsthand experience, technical expertise, and a genuine stake in the outcome. That broad, diverse community is our greatest strength. It always has been.

The ocean is vital to all of us. Now is not the time to rest on the foundation of what’s been built. Now is the time to build on it. Together we can continue to advance science-based fisheries management to keep our oceans healthy, keep fishermen feeding America, keep waterfronts working, keep anglers on the water, and keep the U.S. marine resources thriving and bountiful for the next 50 years and beyond.

A version of this article first appeared in the Marine Fish Conservation Network’s “From the Waterfront” blog.

Experience said the usual spots would be blown out. It didn’t matter, the break in weather was too good to waste. Worst case: some exercise. On the drive out, the first chance to check the water confirmed my suspicions — but I’d figured on that and had a plan.

One access to Dry River is by walking down a normally dry tributary. Given the water levels, it might be fishable and worth a look. Sure enough, it looked fishable.

But first I wanted to see what Dry looked like. Turned out to be a little sporty — the tributary was clearly the better option.

Having never had a chance to fish this trib, and with a questionable connection at the junction with Dry, expectations were pretty low. Typical blue-line scenario. Worth a look, though. Found a few fish, including a decent 8” er that had me wondering “how the heck did you get up here?”

Further up the drainage the ratio of obstacles to fishable water increased. After navigating around a few blowdowns — including one with a curious spectator — it was time to call it a day.

Filed this one under “check out again early next spring” and headed home.

Bennett had been in D.C. doing some advocacy work and one of the best ways to shake off the strain of that endeavor is a couple of days fly fishing for native brook trout in the mountain streams of the Shenandoah Valley.

When Steve Duda was editing Fly Fish Journal, he wrote an entertaining piece ranking the myriad qualities of Little Debbie snacks.2 Because Little Debbie has a bakery here in the Valley, I occasionally share news and sightings of Little Debbie snacks in their native habitat. Because Bennett and Duda are friends, the opportunity to show Duda Little Debbie in all their glorious utility was not to be missed.

Suitably provisioned we moved off to fish one of my favorite sections of a favorite stream.

The water levels were a tad low for early in the season, but we both managed to bring a few fish to hand. And while the fishing was good, the chance to share choice water with a close friend made it that much better.

If there is a location and endeavor almost as enjoyable as fly fishing in mountain streams it would be sitting on a porch, smoking a cigar and enjoying a wee dram (or two, truth be told). Bennett and I didn’t hesitate to indulge ourselves.3

Day two found us up on another favorite section of another local favorite.

It didn’t disappoint…

Since then time on the water have been few and far between because of the drought we’re in. But as I type this it’s pouring and hope springs eternal.

The hat in the image above is there for a reason. Trout Unlimited recently launched “Every River Needs a Champion,” an initiative to recruit river advocates across the country, not just fly fishers. At the Southeast Rendezvous where they rolled this out, the pitch was straightforward — anglers, advocates, and volunteers all working toward cleaner water and healthier watersheds.1

As a longtime TU volunteer, the approach makes sense. Rivers need more than anglers. If you fly-fish, or if you just care about clean water, consider becoming one of TU’s River Champions.

I moved on upstream toward what I hoped would prove to be a suitable egress.

About 6:30 p.m. I took a break to for a time check and to reconnoiter.

Just a cast or two more until I get to my target destination…

Water was 56 degrees, air in the low 80s. The fishing rewarding, the territory familiar. I didn’t stop to take many pictures. Time to head to the truck.

On the walk back, I came across a sign I had not noticed before. I’ll need to learn the history there.

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE: March 31, 2026

Arlington, VA – The Marine Fish Conservation Network (MFCN) today commended Senators Lisa Murkowski and Angus King for their bipartisan legislation to strengthen the American seafood industry. The American Seafood Competitiveness Act expands access to USDA loan and grant programs for commercial fishermen, seafood processors, and mariculture businesses, treating the seafood industry with the same economic support as traditional agriculture. The Marine Fish Conservation Network released the following statements:

“Fishermen have long deserved the same financial opportunities available to farmers. The American Seafood Competitiveness Act expands eligibility for farm ownership loans, operating loans, and Farm Credit lending to fishing and seafood enterprises. It also lowers matching-fund barriers for small and rural operators accessing USDA market development programs. This legislation recognizes that people who harvest from the sea play the same vital role in feeding America as those who work the land. It’s good policy and good economics.”

Tom Sadler, chief executive officer of the Marine Fish Conservation Network

“Strengthening access to capital helps working waterfronts remain viable while supporting the fishing jobs and coastal communities that depend on healthy fisheries. The legislation represents a critical step toward economic parity for fishing communities and working waterfronts.”

Linda Behnken, commercial fisherman and executive director of the Alaska Longline Fishermen’s Association

###

The Marine Fish Conservation Network is a coalition of commercial and recreational fishing associations, regional and national conservation groups, aquaria, and marine science organizations committed to sustaining fish populations, healthy marine ecosystems, and robust fishing communities.

This new release first appeared in the Marine Fish Conservation Network’s website.

One of the early threads bindings me to TU’s President, Chris Wood, is our work on Roadless Areas. Working on the Roadless Rule was my introduction to Chris; then Chief of Staff to U.S. Forest Service Chief, Mike Dombeck. Since then, Wood has been a tireless champion for roadless protection. His commitment reflects what many of us in the conservation community believe—roadless areas are the frontline in defending our cold water resources.

The threats to roadless areas aren’t new. But they’re heating up. That’s why Trout Unlimited has stepped up efforts to defend these critical landscapes—efforts that Wood continues to lead with the same dedication he brought to this work decades ago. For many of us, roadless protection represents the foundation that everything else depends on.

TU’s new report, “Roadless, America’s Sporting Lands” is an in depth look at why roadless areas are so important.1

Roads Are the Enemy of Clean Water

When roads get built near streams, three problems show up. First, dirt washes into the water from eroding road surfaces—a conveyer belt of silt smothering fish eggs in the gravel. Second, badly designed culverts2 cut fish off from spawning grounds, leaving populations stranded and vulnerable. Third, roads disturb water flow, creating violent floods in spring and only trickles in summer. Brook trout aren’t fans of any of this.

Brook trout are especially picky about water quality. They’re highly intolerant of silt and depend on silt-free areas to lay their eggs. When sediment from roads suffocates their eggs buried in stream gravel, entire populations disappear. It’s not dramatic—it’s just a slow fade.

Research from the Forest Service shows that roadless areas have watersheds that actually function properly—nearly twice as well as areas with roads. When there are no roads depositing sediment and toxins, the water stays cold and clean. Exactly what brook trout need to thrive.

This is a big deal for the Appalachian region. The Monongahela National Forest in West Virginia holds nearly 1,000 miles of some of the best brook trout habitat on the East Coast. These streams depend on roadless protection. In my birth state of New Hampshire, roadless areas support 80% of native brook trout populations there. The pattern is clear: no roads, thriving trout. While the Shenandoah Valley’s streams aren’t specifically mentioned in TU’s report, the same principles apply to Virginia’s streams. Some of our brook trout streams face the same threats from road development and sedimentation. These headwater streams need the same protection that’s working in New Hampshire and West Virginia.

What Is the Roadless Rule and Why Does It Matter?

The Roadless Area Conservation Rule, enacted in 2001, protects 58.5 million acres of national forest land from new road construction and industrial logging. That might sound like a lot, but here’s the thing: these protected areas make up only 30% of the entire National Forest System, yet they deliver far more value than their size suggests. Research from state and federal agencies shows that roadless areas are simply the most effective and cost-efficient way to conserve fish habitat, water quality, and wildlife populations. They’re not locked-away wilderness where nothing happens—the rule still allows forest health treatments, wildfire mitigation, grazing, recreation, and even energy projects. What it stops is new road building, which is the real threat to cold water streams.

The rule itself is built on solid science and overwhelming public support. When it was created, more than 1.6 million Americans commented on it—and over 90% supported protecting these areas. For brook trout and other cold water species, the rule is essentially an insurance policy. It means that the headwater streams flowing through places like the Monongahela and George Washington National Forests can stay clean, cold, and free from the sedimentation that comes with new road development. The guiding principle is straightforward: maintain these areas for their wild character.

By upholding the Roadless Rule and focusing resources on repairing old roads and removing barriers to fish passage, rather than building new ones, land managers can protect the streams that trout depend on for survival. Continuation of this rule isn’t just good policy—it’s the most vital investment we can make in the future of our cold water resources and the fishing opportunities that depend on them.

Keeping areas roadless isn’t about locking people out—it’s about letting fish live the way they’re supposed to. For brook trout in Virginia and across their historic range, that protection is the difference between thriving populations and empty streams.

Key Facts: Brook Trout & Roadless Areas

• 80% of New Hampshire’s roadless areas support native brook trout

• Brook trout eggs are buried in gravel and are vulnerable to sedimentation run-off from deteriorating roads. Brook trout are highly intolerant of silt and need silt-free area for spawning

• Roadless watersheds are nearly twice as likely to function properly compared to roaded areas

• Roadless areas protect cold, clean water—the exact conditions brook trout require to survive

2

Virginia Trout Stream Barrier Survey (VTSBS) Program
In partnership with the Department of Wildlife Resources, Trout Unlimited launched the Virginia Trout Stream Barrier Survey (VTSBS) in June 2024 as an initiative to survey stream barriers in our TU Priority Waters areas. The VTSBS trains volunteers to use standard protocols in collecting necessary field data to generate a barrier severity rating.​

Recently, TU received an offer to support the program through a challenge donation from Dr. David Jones, a TU lifetime member and recipient of the 2006 Conservation Volunteer Award for bringing the Trout-In-The-Classroom program to Virginia. David and Karen, and their son David and daughter Lauren, will match donations up to a total of $5,000. With matching donations, this challenge will generate up to $10,000 to purchase survey equipment, train new volunteers, and reimburse volunteers for their mileage in completing surveys.

You can make a donation to the Virginia Council’s VTSBS program (or scan QR code below) and be recognized for your support of the VTSBS program.

Rolled up to one of my favorite spots to check out the conditions.

Looked like there was plenty of water and with air temps in the mid 60’s it was certainly worth kitting up.

I had a new pair of Patagonia Swiftcurrent® Expedition Zip-Front Waders to try and I was eager to get them wet… Hold that thought.

Down the bank I went to start walking downstream to a favorite section. Here’s a look upstream from where I crossed.

I planned to fish this section if I had time… Hold that thought.

I moved downstream, marking spots for likely places for the fish to be and set about it.

I hooked up on a nice fish in a spot that has help some good one’s over the years. Big enough that I was glad I had my net. But, as luck would have, it came unbuttoned before I got it to the net. C’est la vie.2

Not easily discouraged by my ineptitude with a net, I pressed on…

Apparently, my ineptitude with a net foreshadowed my rusty wading skills.

You will recall I mentioned wanting to get my waders wet. My intention was to get them wet on side that’s supposed to get wet.

Yup, as I was backing up I stumbled and sat down in the water. Not too bad initially, but momentum took over and water flowed in the top on my waders. Not a full dunking but enough of Dry River to get socks, long johns, shirt, and fleece more than “just damp” but not enough to wade to shore and dump it all out.

What the hell I thought, it was 65 degrees and sunny; let’s see how this goes.

And was rewarded with a couple like this one. And few more smaller ones. All in all a bit better fishing than I expected.

By the time I got back to the starting point my feet were telling me it might be time to pack it in. So I shucked my waders, spread a towel3 on the seat of the truck and headed home.

The aftermath

Gear back in the locker and the bathroom drying racks fully utilized.

If I only went fishing to catch fish, I’d miss one of the best reasons to go — feeling Ullassa. Ullassa, a Sanskrit term, refers to “feelings of pleasantness associated with natural beauty.”

I learned about Ullassa this week from Tamara Levitt during one of my Calm practices.

Levitt said, “We grow Ullassa through things like noticing the sound of crackling leaves underfoot, the magic of new buds on maple trees and the glimmer of snow in the sunlight. This awareness of natural beauty has an uplifting power. It can quiet the mind, calm anxiety and stir a reverence for the complexity and mystery of life.”

Not surprisingly, Levitt’s description invoked memories of sojourns to mountain streams, a reverence for the brook trout that call them home, and the intricacies of fly-fishing. The mystery of life indeed.

With luck, I’ll find some Ullassa again soon, and maybe a brook trout to enhance it.

One of the more pleasant aspects of fly-fishing is the quiet—the quiet of the mind that comes from being outdoors.

The beauty lies in letting the fly-fishing adventure take you to a place where you can enjoy the stillness and the silence of nature.

“The quieter you become, the more you hear.” — Ram Dass

Fly-fishing gives me the opportunity to hear. I quiet my mind, silence the extraneous thoughts, and focus on the task at hand. I pause and hear the music in the mountain streams.

Even now, as I sit at my desk, I hear the music and the silence.

On January 22, 2009, I wrote this tribute for the News Virginian. 17 years later it still holds up.

There are some columns one would prefer never to write. This is one of them.

Please indulge me as I reflect on two people who are no longer with us. Not to mourn their loss so much as to celebrate their lives.

On Tuesday morning [January 20, 2009] one of my very closest friends lost his battle with cancer.

He was like a brother to me. The best man in my wedding, a hunting and fishing partner of many years and the voice on the other end of the phone keeping me strong when trouble came. And oh, the whiskey we drank.

Many of you have never heard of James D. Range. But all of you have been touched by his work. He was a conservation hero. Embodying a conservation ethic on the scale of Roosevelt, Leopold, Muir and Pinchot.

One of my most cherished memories, from many years ago, is standing with him in my dining room one night. We got choked up looking out at the fields and woods where I lived.

He told me that not a lot of folks were willing to protect the things he, I and many of you love so much like fish, wildlife and the wild things of this earth. He said, “Tommy we have to protect the wild things. If we don’t do it, it won’t get done.”

Tears streamed down our faces. Big men do cry.

Range was a modern architect of natural resource conservation. A skilled bipartisan policy and political genius with an extraordinary network of friends and contacts.

Range had wonderful oratorical gifts, a way of always speaking from his heart, sometimes in language not fit for a family newspaper. You may not have liked what he said but you surely knew what he thought.

He was the personification of “if they don’t see the light, we can surely make them feel the heat.”

Range’s fingerprints are all over the nation’s conservation laws, including the Clean Air Act and Clean Water Act. His championing of conservation tax incentives earned him a profile in Time magazine.

He ably chaired the Theodore Roosevelt Conservation Partnership’s Board of Directors pouring his enormous energy into its resurrection.

He served with distinction and candor on the Board’s of Trout Unlimited, the Recreational Boating and Fishing Foundation, the American Sportfishing Association, Ducks Unlimited, the American Bird Conservancy, the Pacific Forest Trust, the Valles Caldera Trust and the Yellowstone Park Foundation.

Range was an original board member of the National Fish and Wildlife Foundation, helping to chart the outstanding course it is on today. He also held presidential appointments to the Interstate Commission on the Potomac River Basin and the Sportfishing and Boating Partnership Council.

In 2003, Range received the U.S. Department of the Interior’s Great Blue Heron Award, the highest honor given to an individual at the national level by the Department.

He was also awarded the 2003 Outdoor Life Magazine Conservationist of the Year Award and the Norville Prosser Lifetime Achievement Award from the American Sportfishing Association.

Range’s greatest love was the outdoors. He fished and hunted all over the world. I suspect he was happiest however, at his place on the Missouri River near Craig, Mont.

Flyway Ranch was his sanctuary. A sanctuary, which, in typical Range fashion, he shared with friends and colleagues so they too could enjoy a respite from challenges both personal and professional.

Beside his multitude of friends and admirers, Range is survived by his father, Dr. James Range of Johnson City, Tenn., brothers John Neel, Harry and Peter, twin daughters Allison and Kimberly, and loyal bird dogs Plague, Tench and Sky.

Range may be gone but we will be telling stories about him for the rest of our lives.

The Valley lost another friend recently as well. She was one of Range’s favorite people and the mother of his girlfriend Anni.

Jean Marion Gregory Ince, died on Jan. 12 at the University of Virginia Hospital in Charlottesville. She and her husband Eugene St. Clair Ince, Jr. and her beloved golden retriever “Meg” were residents of Madison.

Like Range, Jean Ince was a giver. She and Meg, a certified therapy dog, worked with patients at the Kluge Children’s Rehabilitation Center in Charlottesville and at the Augusta Medical Center in Fishersville.

Anni told me her mom, like Range, loved the outdoors and animals, particularly horses and dogs. She said that love was passed on to her children and grandchildren as well.

Jean and Bud enjoyed a special relationship. They wrote about it in the December 1978 issue of GOURMET Magazine. An Evening at the Waldorf chronicles the evening of their engagement.

It is a wonderfully engaging story of a young couple, a special hotel, and a time when doing for others was a common practice.

I hope you will take a moment to read it. It is a gift that will make any day a better one.

You can find a copy of An Evening at the Waldorf [http://www.gourmet.com.s3-website-us-east-1.amazonaws.com/magazine/1970s/1978/12/love-at-the-waldorf-astoria18ff.html]

Jim Range and Jean Ince have made our world a better place. Their friends and families miss them but their memories will warm our hearts forever.

-30-

One of the paradoxes of fly-fishing in mountain streams is the passage of time.

It breaks down like this.

When I want to be there, it seems to take forever to get ready and get there. When I’m fishing, concentration is measured in casts, not minutes — in takes, misses, confusion, or resignation.

Nothing else.

Time seems to pass slowly as I move from spot to spot, the concentration of fishing unbroken — until I look up and notice the day has gone by.

I don’t wear a watch, relying instead on the movement of sun and shadow on the water to measure the time left to fish.

I like it that way.

Lot’s going on in the world that is disturbing.

When I look at my home screen I want to see something that brings comfort and good memories.

“To learn, wander. To achieve, focus.”

This quote comes from James Clear’s “3-2-1 Thursday” newsletter, and it struck me as a fine approach to fly-fishing mountain streams.

You likely see the obvious connection. Here’s how I see it.

When I’m fishing mountain streams, much of the enjoyment comes from trekking up the streambed. As I type this, images of streams are dancing in my head. I can wander them again in my mind, and, yes, to a fair degree I think I’ve “learned” them. The beauty is that they change often enough that I can wander and learn repeatedly. Those wanderings are reward enough, truth be told.

Catching brook trout takes something more than free-range wandering up a streambed. That’s where focus comes in. Rising fish, fishy-looking water, seams, pillows, and bubble lines grab my attention now. If I’ve fished this water before, my earlier wandering has taught me a few things, allowing me to use what I’ve learned to break down the larger picture into distinct areas of focus. If it’s new water, lessons from previous adventures are transferable.

So, I’ll continue to wander and learn and with a little focus bring a brookie or two to hand. In any event, it’s always time well spent.

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The two small horns are Lily's puppy teeth. It graces our home as a reminder of the magic that is Christmas. The simple things really are the best!

Here's hoping this finds you safe, happy and in the company of those you love.

Merry Christmas to you and yours!

I’ll leave you with what I consider the finest rendition of Little Drummer Boy

During a mindfulness session, the instructor suggested focusing on the pause between the inhalation and the exhalation of breath. That lasted about three breaths before I started thinking about the similarity to fly casting.

Here’s what occurred to me:

New casters often struggle with is stopping the rod on the backcast and forward cast, and pausing long enough for the line to straighten out.1 Helping them integrate that pause into their cast can be challenging.

Beginners tend to fling the line behind themselves and then quickly start the forward cast. The telltale snap of the whipping action is the result. I can show them the “windshield-wiper” motion, explaining this is not what a good cast looks like. The rod needs to stop on the back cast and forward cast.

I’ve tried a variety of ways to explain the stop and pause. Sometimes it works; sometimes it doesn’t.

Here’s what I’m going to try next time:

I’ll ask them to focus on their breathing. It will sound something like this:

Take a breath in, hold it for a moment, then breathe out. Do it a few times.

Inhale smoothly, filling your lungs—sort of like you’re savoring a scent. Hold it. Then, smoothly exhale.

Feel how the inhale and exhale speeds up right at the end?

Compare that to breathing in and out quickly, like a dog panting. That feels frantic, right?

We want the first one. That smooth, focused breath is the fly cast.

Try it with the rod now.

Inhale smoothly on your backcast. Stop the rod and hold your breath—that’s your pause to let the line straighten.

Now, exhale smoothly on the forward cast. Stop the rod and hold your breath, let the line straighten while slowly dropping the rod tip to follow the line to the water.

Try matching your hand to your breathing.

When you're ready to make the next cast, repeat the breathing sequence.

I suspect by focusing on the pause in the breath, the pause in the cast will follow suit. We shall see.

Next time I fish, I’ll put it to the test. If you try it, let me know how it works for you.

One of the supreme benefits of spending time fishing the mountain streams of Virginia is the tranquility and beauty they provide.

It’s easy to find serenity in the moving water, the cathedral of trees and the ever-changing scenes I encounter as I meander along.

While my main purpose is to fish, the fact is the solace of these beloved mountain streams gives rise to a calm rarely found anywhere else.

Perhaps it’s my age—where the end is closer than the beginning—and I realize how important it is to savor the moments for what they are. Not to let stress lay its hand on my shoulder and ruin what’s left. Especially when I’m fishing.

As Traver wrote, “finally, not because I regard fishing as being so terribly important but because I suspect that so many of the other concerns of men are equally unimportant—and not nearly so much fun.”

Cultivating calm while facing those other concerns is a work in progress for me. It takes training and discipline. But as I get better at it, the more rewarding it is. Now I try very hard to carry the serenity I find in the mountain streams into my day-to-day endeavors.

It seems to be working…