A fond farewell

HAPPY TRAVELS, JIM.

On March 2nd my good friend Jim Bull passed peacefully to begin his next adventure.  He was ninety-five years old.

Jim was a real outdoorsman.  He loved to camp, boat, hunt, and above all else fish.  He could spin tales hours upon hours of the many adventures he had enjoyed, always humble, never boastful.  "Ya know that guy really knew how to hunt."  "Boy could that guy fish."  Although I suspect I most cases it was Jim who was the real expert in the party.  He and I enjoyed not enough fishing time and he patiently taught me to fly fish, he the better teacher than I the student.

Jim was what I hope to be in growing old: graceful.  I suspect that the more active a life one leads the more difficult it must be to accept the inevitable limits imposed by age.  But from Jim I heard nothing but an honest acceptance.  "You know John I really miss fly fishing but it's time to give it up." 

One day when we were fishing the shores of Green Lake Jim offered up this sage observation:  "Ya know, life is a lot like fishing.  The people on the shore are trying to cast their lures out to where the boats are and the people in the boats are trying to cast in to the shore and nobody really knows where the fish really are."

Jim died on my fifty-ninth birthday.  For the rest of my years that will make the day all the more meaningful for me.  In the meantime, before we have a chance to dip a line again together, dear Lord please make sure the lakes and streams of heaven are well stocked.