That’s it. Today, Wednesday, that our expedition ends. And while we all feel the need for a shower—in every sense of the word—I don’t think we are really looking forward to the end of our adventure. All that remains is to hope that we will make the most of these last moments shared in such good company.
This fateful day begins around 5 a.m. with the endearing sound of André’s harmonica. The little rascal waited until the last minute to share his musical talents with us. A very pleasant surprise.
Preparing for the inevitable departure
After having prepared our equipment to go fishing one last time before returning to civilization, Mario invites us to think of a word that would sum up the diversity and richness of our experiences over the last few days. No need to tell you it won’t be easy.
Then we hop into our minivans with our respective transportation teams. Over the days, these teams have become real micro-families united by common referents existing within a larger family that is just as significant. We therefore take advantage of the road to appreciate one last time the pleasure we have in riding together.
Arrived in the parking lot near the waterfall and the salmon pools, the fate of life has in store for us a moment of rare intensity. As we get out of our vehicles, Celine Dion’s song “I’m Alive” (again!) begins on the radio. The music, the lyrics, the environment around us, it’s all just perfect. So we let ourselves go in a contagious and unifying dance rocked by intoxicating pop and the first rays of the sun.
Live fully what remains
The pace is now set. We let ourselves be carried to the river by the joy and strength provided by this unique moment and we all gather together at pool 23. The one near the falls and by far the most idyllic place we have had the chance to explore during our expedition.
We chat comfortably sitting on the stones along the river. Quickly, a large circle of discussion forms and we continue our discussions, sipping our coffees with the sense of urgency that only the last day of such a trip can bring.
I don’t know if it’s the water colder than the day before or just the urge not to miss any discussion, but many of us are fishing a lot less than expected.
We have all fallen in love with fly fishing in the past few days, and yet… In reality, I could try to describe all the emotions that are going through us right now in more than 10 pages, but I have to admit that I don’t think I can. What we feel at this moment is so beautiful, so strong, that I doubt that any language has yet developed the vocabulary to describe it.
Sorry.
How to describe the indescribable
The best I can do for you is to give you a burst of words that may or may not make you feel something. At least I will have tried.
- Alive like Celine in her song.
- Privileged to have experienced something so unique.
- Recognition for everything that contributed to this journey’s intensity.
- Inspired by all those I have met.
- Connection with all those kind-hearted people.
- Learning as a result of all these encounters and experiences.
- Laugh as we have laughed so frequently.
- Communion with nature, with each person in the group, with oneself.
- Disconnecting from everything that weighs on us and swallows us every day.
Just before leaving the beach, we see two salmon jumping into the waterfall. Undeniable proof that our mentors had not lied to us and that there really were fish in this river.
As a duty of remembrance
Then before leaving our camp, Marie-Michelle, an extraordinary facilitator, gives each of us a bracelet made from a single string.
This bracelet surely has a slightly different meaning for all of us.
For me, this bracelet will always be a reminder to try very hard to bring back a piece of what we have managed to create here in my daily life. The love that I felt and received, the ease in the sharing that we had throughout our conversations, the solidarity in the face of adversity, the openness of mind and the absence of judgment towards the baggage and life of the other.
I cannot speak for others here. So, it will be up to you to ask them.
The only certainty that resides in me about this is that the rivers will never be the same and neither will we.
Jean-Mathieu, a little emotional as I write these last words.
Blogger and Photographer for the On the Tip of the Toes Foundation.
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