The Sound That Led Me Home

I’ve written about it before. I’ve lived it most of my adult life. It is life. I’ve talked about it, published stories about it, shaped my life around it and still live it. It sings, swings, sways and slows. It brings joy, songs, love and life.

I’m rambling. I’m deep in thought. I’ve gotten lost in my own mind. What is she talking about? What is she rambling on about?

Fly casting is magical. Fly fishing is magical. My life always held magic, but fly fishing gave me more. Now I share that magic with a family, all while living with stage 4 breast cancer.

I never learned to fish with conventional tackle. My dad was a true fly angler. We could be playing in the yard, and he would hand me a fly rod. “Do this instead of playing in traffic,” he would say.

My family fished across the country during my childhood. Still, I didn’t find my own love for it until my late 30s. One day, I joined a friend on a Florida beach. I watched fish after fish come to hand, and I was hooked.

I taught myself to fly fish as an adult. I spent hours at ponds, bayous and the Gulf of Mexico. It took a long time to catch my first fish. Still, the movements felt instinctive from my childhood. I thank God every day for my outdoor upbringing. None of my adult life would have happened without it.

One fish has stayed in my thoughts for years. There was a bend in a Texas bayou. This was years before I became a guide, writer or part of a family. I saw a fish bigger than my body. I watched him, studied him and cast to him. I never caught him. Almost 16 years later, that fish still haunts me.

I guided across the country for years. I worked in Wyoming, Texas, Tampa Bay and the Florida Keys. It was an absolute blast. I had never fished so much, loved something so deeply or met so many fishy friends and clients.

In Texas, I guided in the mornings and fished for myself until 2 or 3 a.m. In Florida, I worked evenings at rooftop bars and high-end restaurants. Then I guided and fished during the day. Many nights, I worked until midnight or 1 a.m. I went home, showered and headed back out for the late-night bite with friends.

It was insane. I was insane. I was insanely in love with my life. Still, I craved one thing. I thought about it often and wondered whether I’d ever find it.

I was guiding, writing and working across Florida. Then I received an offer to guide in Wyoming. For a female wade-fishing guide, this was a dream. I could guide out West and down South.

I didn’t know something was growing inside me. I had no clear symptoms. Doctors had called it a cyst for years.

I left for Triangle X Ranch near Jackson Hole and the Tetons. I grew up in the Midwest but spent much of my childhood out West. My family camped there for months each summer. Returning felt like going home.

The ranch owner sent me to scout the two rivers I’d guide. They were the same rivers where my father taught me to fly fish, the Snake and the Firehole. I felt superhuman. I knew that high. I had felt it in Florida and Texas. I believed I could accomplish anything. The experience felt magical. Still, that one thing was missing.

For several years, I guided and lived out West. During the winters, I rented furnished rooms in Florida. Life was magical. Then COVID hit.

In one week, I lost both bar jobs, my restaurant work and every guiding client. I hadn’t heard from the ranch, but I knew that call was coming. I saved enough each summer to return West, so I could live on those savings for a time. One week later, the ranch called. It would remain closed for two more months.

I was devastated. I had lost everything. So I waited and fished.

A month later, I got another call. The ranch wanted me back. I packed, drove West and arrived within three days. Something was still growing in the background. For the moment, I knew I’d be okay.

The thing I had always wanted was a family. I never had children, and I had already been divorced. I spent years single and living this wild life. It was amazing, but doing everything alone was exhausting.

The hours were odd. The days were long. I worked seven days a week. Twice each year, I drove across the country alone. It was a lot, but I loved it. Still, something was missing. Something else was growing.

One night at the ranch, everything changed. Most days, I ate dinner after guiding and fell asleep early. My alarm rang around 4:30 a.m. for the next round of trips. That night was different.

I found an internet connection and scrolled through Facebook. I thought I was leaving a comment, but I sent a message instead. I started talking to someone I had never met.

We talked for three or four hours each night. We did this every night for months. We both knew this was different. It was honest, kind, gentle and fun.

After my guiding season ended, I drove straight to meet him and his children. Everything clicked. It felt like a lightning strike. We had each found the family we had hoped for.

I drove back to Florida, gathered the rest of my things and returned to Turah, Montana. We started a life together.

About four years into our life together, I received a stage 4 breast cancer diagnosis. The news devastated us in a way neither of us can explain. The cancer had already spread to my bones and lungs.

Me? Us? We had finally found our family. Now this?

Life doesn’t stop for anyone. It keeps going.

I put on my big-girl pants. I completed four months of chemotherapy, two weeks of radiation and three surgeries. I faced side effects no one wants to hear about. I lost 30 pounds. I lost my hair. At times, I felt myself slowly losing my life.

Cancer didn’t know who it had picked. I am a fighter. My faith in God has always carried me. I kept working full time through treatment.

Now, almost two years into treatment, I’m killing it. My condition is stable. The tumors have shrunk, and no new tumors have appeared.

Amen.

Here I am, years later. I fish constantly with my fiancé. We help raise his beautiful children with their mom. I still work at the same job. I remain deeply in love with my life. I found my direction on the compass of life. I am thankful for every part of it.

Six years later, we have loved every second. We plan to marry in summer 2027. We fish constantly, love his children with everything we have and live as a family. I had found the one thing I was missing. Every piece fit. I had found the compass pointing me home. It led to my family.

Do you remember the sound I mentioned earlier?

I’ve written about it before. I’ve lived it most of my adult life. It is life. I’ve talked about it, published stories about it, shaped my life around it and still live it. It sings, swings, sways and slows. It brings joy, songs, love and life.

I’m rambling. I’m deep in thought. I’ve gotten lost in my own mind. What is she talking about? What is she rambling on about?

It is the sound of my fly line.

I have followed that sound all this time, and it has carried me everywhere. It took me from Indiana to Idaho, Oregon to Arizona, Texas to Florida and Wyoming, then home to Turah, Montana.

This is where I live and work. This is where I found the love of my life. He loves to fish, and he understands the sound a fly line makes.

My compass is complete. My life is complete. No matter what happens, I am home now. I will be home forever.

We have faced a stage 4 breast cancer diagnosis. We are still here. We are living, loving our little family and fighting cancer together.

For all of it, I am truly and forever blessed.