As I scroll through my photos, recalling my favorite catches from last season, I return to a salmon I pulled in at Flaming Geyser State Park by my house.

I ran down to the Green River on a Wednesday afternoon to sneak in a couple of hours of fishing before a busy weekend. I could feel the anticipation building when I drove over the bridge into the park, and I was going to have the prime stretch of river all to myself. Waders on, hip bag secured, I sprinted to the river, eager to start.

A local guide had given me a speech about calling my shots, watching for activity in the river, and making sure I was fishing intentionally. With my rod in hand, I watched massive chum salmon pass by in groups of seven to ten at a time, observing where the river naturally pushed the fish up to the shallow water. Thankfully, all fish traffic was stacking up at a bend in the river, providing plenty of casting space.

I once asked a fly shop owner which color attracted the most salmon. His response was comical. A fisherman’s favorite color often reflects the lure that landed their first salmon. So, based on his suggestion, pink was the place to start. I unhooked a fluffy pink dolly llama from my rod, stripping out a healthy amount of line.

I enjoy the rhythm of casting a fly rod. It is a mixture of aggression and fluidity, moving your arm back and forth from ten to two, slamming on the breaks as you feel the rod bend back, recoiling under the line’s momentum. When you time your release just right, the unfurling of your line, directly where you were aiming, is enough to make me beam with pride. Today was a good day of casting. My streamer landed in the river directly in front of me. As I watched my line hit 45 degrees off my shoulder, I instinctively crouched down, methodically stripping in my line to drag my alluring pink lure across a salmon’s face.

Strip, strip, strip, tug, tug, then an explosion! A fifteen-pound Chum Salmon surged downriver, my hook firmly set. My heart rate jacked through the roof, and a massive smile broke out on my face (I have a smile on my face right now as I write this). Moments like this are why I fish—to feel the raw power of a sea-going salmon as it bends my rod, doubling it over. I worked the salmon towards the bank, letting it run when it wanted, working my reel and bringing him in as he rested. Eventually, he was at my feet; as I came down to my knees to gently grab his tail, I had an incredible moment of gratitude.

It is mindblowing to consider how special this moment is. This salmon spawned in this river, survived its journey to the ocean, then existed, grew, and avoided predators while spending approximately five years there. Only to have its internal compass guide it back through Puget Sound, up the Duwamish and Green Rivers, and ultimately into my net.

I was born and raised in Portland, Oregon. My parents met in California; my mom was raised in Canada, and my dad was raised on the East Coast. As a young adult, I moved to Centralia, Washington, met Britney, who lived in Covington then, and decided to move to be with her instead of taking a job offer in the Midwest. On a whim, during COVID, we decided to sell our house in Covington and move to Enumclaw, fifteen minutes from this state park. My friend Austin called me two years ago and invited me to go fly fishing with him and his friend; I had never been before and now can’t imagine my life without it.

My mind wanders, and I realize how unique all the relationships in my life are. I know people who have lived in almost every corner of the country, friends who have lived internationally, who shouldn’t have lived, and who have overcome disease, addiction, trials, and tribulations that remind me of the strength of the human spirit. Not to mention my journey through addiction, depression, burnout, and now, full-time entrepreneurship.

If I tried hard enough, I could get ChatGPT to develop some version of a statistic explaining the improbability of me catching that specific fish on that random day in October. But I don’t need a statistic to grasp the improbable journey we both took to share that moment. The salmon, driven by an instinct, braved the ocean and navigated miles of river to return home. Like that salmon, each person in my life has navigated their own waters, overcome obstacles, and arrived at the right moment. And just as that salmon found its way back to the river, I find myself here, at this moment, grateful for the incredible individuals who have swam into my life, each a remarkable catch.