Flyfishing Journal, November 20, 2025 gratitude now © Chuck Stranahan
Thanksgiving is occurring just in time this year.
It's time to draw a deep breath, step back from the divisiveness and short-fused outbursts that have become commonplace in the world and refocus, take stock of what we have, what really matters in our lives, and be thankful.
There are the things we are traditionally thankful for: the warmth and presence of friends and family; our homes (or the fact that we have shelter at all;) the beautiful place we live (here in Western Montana that’s easy;) our nation, our freedoms, and those who wrought them, fought for them; many of us, in the spirit of the first Thanksgiving, thank God for those blessings.
Then there are things that are vitally important on a personal level; for me flyfishing is one of those things. Beyond the sport in all its trappings and nuances, there are connections with the natural world and people in my life because of flyfishing.
We celebrate it all, the shared and personal blessings, over a feast, the abundance of tryptophan-laced white meat and gravy and all the trimmings, (a harbinger of the involuntary naps to follow;) the traditional All-American apple and pumpkin pies for dessert; the gatherings of friends and family to celebrate.
At the center of it, before the meal begins, there is usually a pause where we speak out-loud in whatever way we choose, to express our gratitude and appreciation for what we have before we dig in.
Once, as an unwilling guest, I attended a Thanksgiving meal where the head of the house sat at the head of a table where three families were gathered. Just as everybody was settling into their places, anticipating a the warmth of a traditional Thanksgiving statement in some form, or even a prayer, he cut it all short by demanding, “Pass the potatoes.”
The room fell silent.
The potatoes were passed, followed by everything else; we sat, we ate, we tried to deflect our disappointment with feigned laughter and small talk as the head of the table stuffed himself.
I excused myself quietly after the football game started on TV; first guest out the door but trying not to be too conspicuous.
By all appearances that man had a lot, but certainly not everything. Wife, child, estate on spacious grounds by the river, a stable full of horses, plenty of money. But his eyes, the windows to his soul, other than an occasional fiery glare, seemed empty.
Gratitude and the expression of it, even if what we have is very little, is good for the soul. It fuels the hope that keeps us going, the humility that makes us more accessible to others, and altogether makes us more fully alive.
I see faces that are fully alive in my grandchildren and their friends who also call me Grandpa Chuck. I see it in their art; the joyful pictures given as love-gifts that decorate our refrigerator and the bulletin board above my writing desk.
The pictures, some of them depicting fishing trips with Grandpa Chuck, rekindle my love for them and gratitude for their presence in my life.
There are more wonderful people I have adopted as my own, the kids, their parents, and my friends across generational lines who all came into my life in some way because of flyfishing. I realize that the fishing itself is only the surface of it.
The best of fly fishing is what connects us, in some unspeakable ways, to everything from the warmth of the sun on our faces and the chill of the current on our legs, the scents of overhead pines and water on streamside rocks, the inspiring grandeur that surrounds us, and the mystery of the trout and what they’re eating and our attempt to enter that whole mystery by way of an artificial fly.
Some call it a mystical or religious experience – at the very least it's a rare place to find kinship with another who is connected in the same way.
So we sit on the tailgate of a pickup after an evening hatch, and as brightening stars overtake a vanishing sunset, we say things that sound trite and a little silly, like, “This is what it’s all about.”
That’s as close as we need to come.
That's where the world's troubles are put into perspective, where gratitude and hope are rekindled.
For me, the refocus I perpetually need can come on the tailgate of an old pickup truck after an evening hatch, or over a turkey dinner with people I love where were give thanks for all good things.
This year, in all things, I intend to pursue it. Thank you for reading this column – and have a wonderful Thanksgiving.