Details
This image was created to illustrate John Gierach’s closing column in the March 2005 issue of Fly Rod & Reel magazine.
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It was during my first summer in Alaska, while learning to be a fishing guide, that I met Jack.
Like the heroes of my youth, Jack was bigger than life. Well over six foot tall, with hands the size of small hams, Jack’s physical presence was only eclipsed by his experiences. He had hunted and fished all over the world. He’d shot big game in Africa, fished from Alaska to Argentina, and was a fly-casting champion at the San Francisco Casting Club back in the 50′s and 60′s. He knew double guns, bamboo fly rods, bird dogs, and whisky. He had a gravely voice that was perfect for telling a story, particularly if there was an ironic twist to its ending. His eyes were bright and quick, and his nature generous. He didn’t bullshit because he didn’t have to, and if you were lucky enough to earn his respect and friendship, you could take it to the bank. He’s what I think of as a “man’s man”, Teddy Roosevelt, Jack London, and Zane Grey, all rolled into one. Davey Crockett, Daniel Boone, and even John Wayne, all came down a notch as I got to know Jack. He was my best man when Lisa and I were married at the lodge, and I can honestly say that not seeing him once or twice a summer was the hardest thing about my short hiatus from Alaska.
After a couple of seasons of not fishing with Jack, I came to the realization that we might not see each other again. Life’s funny that way, the routines that we take for granted can suddenly change, leaving us with just our memories. With that realization, it occurred to me just how much I’d like to have a set of Jack’s fly rods… not so much for the fishing, as for the holding. I asked Jack if he might trade me a set of his bamboo rods for a painting. Several weeks later a package arrived with two classic Winston rods, made for him by Doug Merrick.
I’ve fished those rods on the little Mill Stream, behind the studio, and have caught some nice brook trout with them. But, to be honest with you, it’s not the fish that I remember, it’s the time spent with my old friend, Jack.
I knew Jack was dying when I did this painting of him on one of our favorite rivers. It was present when I eulogized him at his memorial service.
