News Ticker

My friend Fritz…

There are two people I see regularly on my early morning weekend walks. When we cross paths, we spend a few moments chatting, then are off on our separate ways.

Philips Place is named for one of them, Tom. The other is Fritz, a former local district court judge. Fritz takes particular interest in the focal point of my walks; he’s a fly fisherman and board member of the local Trout Unlimited chapter,

What I pick up doesn't directly impact the waters that rainbows, browns and brookies inhabit in the North Carolina mountains. But as Fritz knows, keeping this junk out of any fishable waters is what counts.

What I pick up doesn’t directly impact the waters that rainbows, browns and brookies inhabit in the North Carolina mountains. But as Fritz knows, keeping this junk out of any fishable waters is what counts.

so he knows the value of keeping debris out of trout habitat. He knows of Tim, my son in law who is the best fly fisherman I’ve ever seen (and I’ve seen a lot) and the former lead engineer for Scientific Angler.

Just today, Fritz invited me to visit his TU chapter and talk about what I do and how it has an indirect impact on one of the group’s primary interests: clean water.

I’ll be honored to do so. There is no promotion of these pages beyond this site. We’ll see how others respond to my passion.

About Dave Bradley (264 Articles)
I was a writer by trade so one would think letters would come easily for me. It is so now, but wasn't always that way. Indeed, the first letter was written the Monday after Ellen started her freshman year in college. For years I've wondered - with no good answers - why I swiveled my office chair toward my computer screen to fire up a word processing document for that first letter. I just don't know. I just did. Perhaps it was the angst of separation or wanting to say things that had gone unsaid at that moment when we parted ways in front of her college dormitory. What was a one-off became habitual. When her brother Reid enrolled in the same college, his name was added to the salutation line. They were kids then and are adults now. No matter. The letter writing habit remains so today. I live in Brevard, North Carolina. I'm well away from where they live and don't see them nearly as often as I'd like. That's why letters, at least to me, fill the void of distance. The pages give me something to say and the space to say it. There is no assurance they read the letters; indeed, I have never asked if they do so. With the pace of their busy lives who could blame them for letting a letter sit unopened? Over time, it has dawned on me that the letters are both communicative - and cathartic. By nature, letters are about the writer; the writer can only write about their situation. Perhaps that is as it should be. It's all about the here and now from one person's perspective.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: