Letting Go
I was fishing on the Bulkley River when my Uncle Bill died in an intensive care unit after a protracted illness. He died on a Tuesday while I was getting my ass royally handed to me by fickle steelhead. The water felt dark and hard-hearted that day, and I felt as if I were doing penance for some nameless sin that I was not aware I had committed. Perhaps this was true. Perhaps it was just fishing. Nevertheless, I spent several more fishless days before actually receiving the news of my Uncle’s d
4/14/2020Erica Hickey
