I don't have friends like that around anymore. A friend who is the perfect fishing partner. While having coffee before leaving, we argued about where to go. During the drive we argued over the parking spot; over upstream or down; over dry or wet. After arriving , we took our chosen paths and each was alone and unapproachable until back at the car or camp. These wonderful qualities may not be recognizable to anyone except another fly fisherman, but they were exquisite. But this was not where this friend shone the brightest.
At camp, this friend was the perfect companion and accomplice. A giant intellect, excellent raconteur, disdain-er of Mensa members, science and philosophy major, with myself being an enthusiastic, but self-taught minor, all subjects could be mulled over. The great authors and poets were exhumed, examined, explained, edited, applauded, ignored and often dismissed. Particularly prickly political problems were smoothly solved: blow them off the face of the earth. History would be rewritten. Yet this was still not the quality I am seeking to replace in my world.
In all ventures, a sense of the absurd and macabre was the greatest gift this friend had. And, the glory was, that not only was there the ability and willingness to note these situations and comment on them, but often in the most surprising and delightful ways, my friend would assist in creating them.
My two fondest memories: dressing all in brown, tying forked sticks on one's head, and, while holding the arms up like raised paws, crossing roads at night in front of automobiles, staring, for a split second into the glare of the oncoming headlights then bounding into the roadside brush, when the phrase "standing like a deer in the headlights" had just caught our fancy; and, chasing thieving porcupines through tall grass on a moonlit night, wearing only ultra-white briefs and untied hiking boots, while screaming, yelling threats and waving the hands.
I fear I shall never see the like again.
At camp, this friend was the perfect companion and accomplice. A giant intellect, excellent raconteur, disdain-er of Mensa members, science and philosophy major, with myself being an enthusiastic, but self-taught minor, all subjects could be mulled over. The great authors and poets were exhumed, examined, explained, edited, applauded, ignored and often dismissed. Particularly prickly political problems were smoothly solved: blow them off the face of the earth. History would be rewritten. Yet this was still not the quality I am seeking to replace in my world.
In all ventures, a sense of the absurd and macabre was the greatest gift this friend had. And, the glory was, that not only was there the ability and willingness to note these situations and comment on them, but often in the most surprising and delightful ways, my friend would assist in creating them.
My two fondest memories: dressing all in brown, tying forked sticks on one's head, and, while holding the arms up like raised paws, crossing roads at night in front of automobiles, staring, for a split second into the glare of the oncoming headlights then bounding into the roadside brush, when the phrase "standing like a deer in the headlights" had just caught our fancy; and, chasing thieving porcupines through tall grass on a moonlit night, wearing only ultra-white briefs and untied hiking boots, while screaming, yelling threats and waving the hands.
I fear I shall never see the like again.
