Which meal will be your choice?

                  

I offer you fresh-caught mountain-lake trout cooked under the stars, a meal prepared amid mountain peaks still covered with snow. The background music is the sound of a rushing stream flowing from the crystal-clear lake where you just caught your supper! The aroma of a campfire blends in with the crisp, thin high-altitude air. Smoke dances from the campfire as you watch your fish bake in the glowing coals. We’ve fashioned a makeshift table using a flat-topped boulder decorated with flowers from the nearby valley. Filtered water from the melted snow is waiting in your glass. A couple of side dishes along with a surprise dessert complete this mountain top meal. Will this be your choice, OR…

Do you choose to chow down a generous portion of microwaveable minced fish sticks? If nuked long enough, they will be crispy, yet still slightly mushy on the inside. Most of the breading falls away from the disintegrating particles. These particles resemble fish caught in an otter’s regurgitated flow. Dip these fish sticks into some ketchup, maybe drown them in ketchup, and they don’t taste half bad! They are so convenient. You could whip up a quick meal for unexpected friends. Add a couple of table decorations and you’ve got your own Valentine’s Day treat!

Decisions, decisions. What’s a guy or gal to do?

I’m guiding three young ladies on a trip to the Lake of the Clouds. The goal for these young ladies is to catch and eat the fish they hook. They share with me their plans to have an evening meal prepared under the star-lit night. I’ve guided many folks in these mountains and the lakes and streams that are in the valleys between rock-covered peaks. Accompanying these young ladies will be both a challenge and fun times for me.

These ladies were new to fly-fishing. They’ve never held a fly rod in their lives. The innocence of them never fly-fishing did not stop the dream they were taking part in.

They spent a day and night at our log home on Higher Ground property. I give them lessons on how to fish. They learn techniques for presenting the fly. The rhythm of casting the fly rod is realized. Their practice cast throws the lure to the practice target, signaling a successful catch. They also catch nearby branches, their own hats, and one young lady’s own shoe.

My approach when instructing fly-fishing beginners involves posing one consistent question. Can you sing? If the person I’m teaching says yes, I then explain that it’s all about the rhythm. Once you find your rhythm, progress follows.

If a client can’t sing? We will clearly have our work cut out for us. It will get done; it just has to be explained differently.

Early the next morning, these three young ladies begin their hike to the mountain lake. Conversations with each other are non-stop. Hiking a four mile rocky path to a high mountain lake is their destination goal. Catching their own fish is the hoped for victory. Independence is what they are seeking. Plans are already underway for an all-night, sleepless camping experience. Why? They dare not waste any time sleeping during their safari into the Colorado Mountains.

We arrived at the rocky edge of the lake. They quickly put together their fishing rods and baited them with flies. Shouts of “Look, there’s a fish” abruptly interrupt my usual instructions on fishing and safety.

My sometimes inopportune ability to become invisible suddenly kicks in. These girls have become so excited that they don’t even know I exist.

Their excitement quickly takes a twist. The troublemakers called frustration and disappointment paw their way into these girls’ activities.

One lady spots a fish close to the bank. It quickly retreats to deep water when her fly lands with a loud splat above it. One lady fisherman has now caught the bushes behind her. She’s waving her rod left and right like a giant windshield wiper as she tries to break her fly free. The last young lady has suddenly tripped a ways down the lake and is battling in ankle-deep water to regain her balance and composure.

I guess it’s now my time to teach a life lesson with these three adventurers. “Let’s take a break, ladies,” I said. “Ya’ll gather here round this tree stump.”

Our next ten minutes of dialogue with each other unveils a significant amount of concern from my fishing students. Questions concerning how they were casting were the chief topic. They then reveal their true emotions. “I don’t know what I’m doing. This is too hard.” I’ve heard this from many folks who are fishing.

As an experienced fisherman, their next words hurt me the most. “I’m not good enough. I give up.”

After they circle underneath a spruce tree, I kneel beside them and present them with a gift. “Here you go, ladies, no worries.” It was a smashed box of half-frozen minced fish sticks. “If you catch nothing, we still have food.” The silence and wrinkled faces couldn’t conceal the confusion these girls faced.

“My advice as your guide is this. Don’t settle for fish sticks. With a little patience and a good bit of effort, you will catch fish for your evening meal. Don’t give up on your dreams just because life gets in the way. On our spiritual journeys, the same can be said. We settle too often and too quickly. An abundant life awaits if we can overcome just settling for less. Your life today comprised tangles, wet feet, and scaring the fish away. Girls, believe in your beliefs and doubt your doubts!”

One by one these young ladies made their way back to the lake shore. The encouraging words they were relaying to each other displayed new determination.

A splash and then a scream! “I’ve got one!” echoed across the mirrored lake. “Me too! Bring the net,” coming from just a few yards away, brought a smile to my face as I busily netted their fish.

Encouraging words shared between these ladies quickly turned to competitive talk. “Well, gals, I’ve got my supper. Don’t know what ya’ll gonna eat!”

“Oh yeah, you need to get a bigger net for this one.”

Netting fish occupied my time. These girls made pictures and took selfies, celebrating their luck with a high mountain toast.

As darkness spread across the valley, I started a roaring campfire as the campers prepared their sleeping bags for the soon-approaching chilly night. The girls gathered near the fire for the sheer pleasure of its warmth.

The fish underwent cleaning earlier. As I threw five fish on the red-hot glowing coals, a look of surprise shot from each girl’s face. “Won’t they burn?”

They receive an explanation that cutthroat trout have oily skin. The fish cooks perfectly within three to four minutes over campfire coals, flipping once.

The aroma of fish cooking combined with the cowboy coffee perking gave the area close to the fire a realistic Colorado Mountains genuine mountaintop camping fragrance.

I placed fresh-caught, campfire-cooked trout onto each plate. These plates already held side dishes, thus completing each one. Water filtered from the melting snow filled each girl’s glass. In the wilderness, this is fine dining at its best!

A prayer of thanks for the privilege of being encircled by God’s majestic creation quickly led to a chorus of “Amen”.

The long time of silence as they ate remains etched in my memory. The unease I was feeling because they might not like the food gave way to satisfaction of a job well done.

The ladies’ “Mmmmmm’s” and “Wows” convey their enjoyment with no need for words.

We spend our time watching the stars, satellites, and falling stars race across the horizon. Distant lightning flashes far away, signaling an electrical storm closer to Kansas than here in the Sangres.

The fire was retreating to a slow ember burning. It was time for me to retire to my sleeping setup. I maintain distance for privacy, yet remain available.

As I’m walking away from the girls and their fire, the words “Thanks for taking us” land on my ears. “No more fish sticks for us! Not in fishing or life in general.  We’re not settling for fish sticks!”

Maybe I wasn’t invisible after all.

I’m bundling into my sleeping bag and hear a young lady shout in my direction. “What did you do with the fish sticks?”

“The fish sticks? I poured them out at the tree stump just south of you. The bears like to eat them.”

“Bears?”