Orcas Dream

Posted on December 1, 2015


My stories all come from dreams. A dream may percolate in me for 30 years before it comes forth into something cohesive. But my dreams are powerful, intoxicating. I sleep to dream. Now, as I write more and more, my dreams are more and more like movies playing in my head. I can get up, get a drink of water, go upstairs, and fall back into the same dream. I don’t get much rest, but I get a lot of entertainment.

This weekend I had a crazy powerful dream. I was in a boat, I don’t remember who was driving. Bob Triggs, but not Bob, in that dream-like way of characters whom you know but don’t know.  Maybe it was Cully. Maybe Davey. We were in a sled, going against the current, but there was no current as we were following the beach. We were heading North, and passed a tributary up by Everett and the water started to rise in the air, not like a wave, but like a spine. Something you could see from both sides. And I could see the Sea Runs in it, bright silver flashes running in and out of the trib. I’ve been searching for those fish for years and to see them like that, I wanted them so bad. And then whales, like a great animated Waling Wall, a pod of them cruising in sinuous waves, all the time under a dramatic and glowering black-and-blue sky. The huge beasts swimming above us, over us. But I cast to the sea runs, mad for them.  Except when I hooked up, I realized I had hooked an Orca (once I fished Chatham Harbor on Cape Cod, a place of shifting dunes and braided underwater rivers, the stripers were chasing the bait fish and the seals were chasing the stripers; I was equally scared that I had waded out to a point from which I could not return and that I would hook or be hit by the body-surfing seals).  I hand-lined the orca in, and he came gently  putting his great head on the gunwale of the boat and sticking out his huge black  tongue for me to remove the fly. The horror and beauty of fly fishing was revealed to me all at once.


Posted in: Writing