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Robynn PrestonYou came down with a hard cold and had to cancel a fishing trip that had been planned for a year.  Or some jerk ran a red light and sidelined your truck the day before your trip.  We’ve all been there.  These and a hundred other things cause a cancellation and every one of them makes a true angler heartsick.

Then I met Robynn.  Her trip too was on the books for a year.  Back when she and her husband Charlie booked it, we had just logged her first lesson in fly casting basics.  It was enough to inspire plans for the following spring–this spring, and Robynn meant to follow through, no matter what.

There were no colds or fender benders standing in her way either.  There was something bigger.  Something that might’ve stood in the way for a great many people, including me.  It was a diagnosis.

And it wasn’t Robynn’s first diagnosis.  It’s just that she’d been granted a reprieve for the previous four years.  Then, without warning, it was back.  She knew all the signs: the fatigue of five wet blankets on your back all the time, the loss of muscle tone and mass, and the weakness.  She only needed one doctor’s visit to confirm what she already knew.

So, there it was, back again.  And, right out in front of her was the fishing trip and the second installment of her quest to become a fly caster.  Charlie wasn’t going to press it.  He knew that Robynn herself would know her own best course of action.

And, as you may have guessed by now, Robynn’s course was action.  No couch.  No recliner.  No  convalescing.  It was pack up and go.  The trip from Concord, NH to Grand Lake Stream might only be five and a half or six hours, but try it in Robynn’s skin when her remission was in remission and her symptoms had returned with force.

When I arrived at our meeting place on time, I was late.  She was already there with a huge smile on her face.  Charlie, in the backround, gave me that, “hey, what can I say?” look, and within thirty minutes, Robynn was sitting in a Grand Laker canoe with a fly rod in her hands.

I won’t go into the details of the day.  That would be to betray trusts.  Chatam House Rules: what is taken into trust among friends stays in trust. I’ll only say that she was harder on herself to learn the finer points of fly fishing than any instructor could ever be.  When she hooked, played, and netted fish, her eyes were brighter than the bluebird day we were blessed with.

It betrays no trust to tell you than Robynn’s going to be fine.  Don’t worry on her behalf because she wouldn’t have anyone thinking of her as a patient.  Charlie knows it, I know it, and so do all of her friends.  Her course of treatment is full of promise and good success rates.  Add to that the nature and disposition of this person (not patient), and you don’t have to be that bold to make a positive prediction.

I think she’d allow me to share one snapshot from our day on the lakes.  We managed to find a beautiful lunch ground with a sand beach.  As I cooked fish and burgers over an open fire, and Charlie and I talked about trout fishing in his beloved Wisconsin, Robynn spread out her jacket on the beach and stretched out on her back.  She was quiet for a long time, so between stoking the fire and getting the guides coffee to a rolling boil, I walked over to check on her.  There she was, eyes closed with a broad smile stretched across her face.  She was not only gathering strength for the afternoon’s action, she was immersing herself in the happiness of the moment.

Well, there’s my snapshot of Robynn for you.  I share it because I think we could all use a dose of whatever power it is that she has tapped into.

I definitely see Robynn back for Chapter Three of her fly fishing story.  If Charlie isn’t concerned right now that she might soon be out-fishing him on a fly rod, he might want to get used to the idea.  It would take a lot to stand in the way of Robynn becoming a proficient fly fisher.  After all, she’s no stranger to overcoming obstacles.