Mirror Lake Tin Cup, Colorado
September 1992

The alarm was ringing. I rolled over and thought, "Turn it off Bobby,
you are too damned tired." Then I remembered: I was in the cabin at
Tin Cup,and this would be my first chance to fish Mirror Lake
this early in the morning!
I slid out of bed and looked across the dim room to where my
daughter, Robin, was still sound asleep in the other bed.
I looked closer. She was 16 years old and so beautiful, and she
still liked being with her dad, even on a fishing trip high in the mountains
of Colorado. How lucky can a man be to have such a daughter?
I knew that I was a very fortunate man that early,
cold morning high in the Rockies. And to think, it had been just
the two of us since she was 12 years old.

For a moment I thought back to 1989. That was the year when I was told
I had Lymphoma and had to go through 14 months of chemotherapy.
Robin was there every day... every night. She was my support.
I still honestly believe she helped save my life for
a day like today.

I got dressed, long johns and all, because at 11,000 feet it gets
very cold even in early September.
Quietly I found my down fishing coat and stepped out onto the porch
where my fishing gear was sitting ready to go.
I had set everything up the night before, after the three-hour
drive from Colorado Springs. Less than 100 people lived here
most of the year, but only a handful through the winter months
I put my rod and reel in the car and started it,
then silently slipped back into the cabin to stay warm.
Robin was still sleeping. While I waited for the car to warm up,
I stood and watched her for a few minutes,
knowing that the time would soon come when this would
never happen again. It wouldn't be long before
she would have gone her own way and started her own family.

Out the door I went again, this time going directly to the car
which was toasty warm by then. It was still dark enough
to turn on the car lights for the short seven-mile trip to Mirror.
This would take 30 minutes no matter how you cut it.
It was slow, windy and had many deep ruts which
I needed to negotiate carefully.

As I followed the narrow road, my mind drifted back to my childhood
when I was just a barefoot boy in the Mojave Desert.
The thought, "You've come a long way, Baby," made me smile.
I had the good fortune of finding the newspaper business, had won
so many awards nationally, and many international awards
as well: trips that went with the awards to
Mexico City, Hawaii, Acapulco and Mazatlan.
Somehow from a poor boy in the desert I had become one of the best
Circulation Directors in the country and I wondered why.

But those thoughts left quickly as I approached Mirror Lake.
The entrance to Mirror Lake was narrow and after going about
100 yards, the lake spread out below me.
It was not a big lake by any means, maybe two miles long
and 1/2 mile wide. I parked the car against the barrier that was
built for that purpose and never leaving the comfort of my car
I started tying a fly onto the end of my leader.
Anything I could do in this warmth would be appreciated later.
Getting out, I felt the deep chill of the Fall and the crisp bite
in my lungs of mountain air.
It was totally silent as I walked toward the place I thought I'd start.
I could still see what seemed like millions of stars in the sky.
Dammit, I realized I was about 1/2 hour early.

I considered following the shoreline down a little further,
but decided that as cold as it was, I'd be better
off staying close to the car. Within a minute or two I got
back in the car and found myself lightly dozing in the warmth.
My head jerked up. What time was it?
Whew! It was still just getting light outside. Perfect.
I went to the shoreline and waded out about 15 feet.
I knew this lake well, where it started to drop off into deeper water.
I gave myself at least 10 feet of room.
I heard the first Rainbow come up.
Another.And another.
It was still too dark to make out exactly where they were rising.
I dropped the fly out about 30 feet moving it slowly back in.
Nothing. Another cast. Again, nothing.
Now it was light enough to make out the other shoreline across
the lake and see how placid and deep blue the water was.
I looked at the fly I had tied on, and decided to tie on another one.
Larger. It should work better early.
But, as I was starting to tie on the fly something
caught my attention directly down the shoreline to the left of me.
I stood still and studied the area but could see nothing.

Then, out stepped a Mule Deer fawn.
Its head went down to drink the lake water.
Then another fawn appeared!
Two beautiful fawns within 50 feet of me! I tried not to breathe.
One kept nipping the other, as though they were playing some game.
The second one stepped back and nipped the other's large tail.
I almost laughed.Then they both turned their
heads toward the forest behind them.
Neither moved, just appeared to be watching.

A large doe appeared, the Mommy.
She nudged one of the fawns with her nose toward the water.
She followed, then she drank with them.
Miraculously, so far I'd gone unnoticed, even though
I was standing within a few feet in plain view.
The air was still, so there was no breeze
to alert them to my smell.
The Mommy nudged both little ones back toward the forest.
Once there, she stood still looking back into the trees.
Finally she flicked her head backwards, and a moment later
out stepped the biggest buck I had ever seen.
His rack was astounding: at least 8 points on each side
and the spread was huge. He stood drinking with the doe for a moment
then nudged her. She turned and went back into the cover of the trees.
Shortly, he followed her. I stood there for a moment staring at the lake.
I prepared to cast again, but I never finished.
I paused, then I waded out of the water, walked back to my car
and put my rod and reel inside.
I got behind the wheel, and drove back to the cabin.
What I had seen was just too wonderful, and I wanted to savor it.
I didn't want to let a day of fishing interrupt the beauty
of the lingering picture in my mind.

There lay my Robin still sleeping.
I walked out onto the tiny porch of the log cabin high in
the Rocky Mountains and looked at the magnificent scenery.
I thought, "Ninety-nine percent of the people in this world
will never get to see this kind of beauty."
I felt at that moment I was the most blessed man on earth that day.

As I sat down on the cold wooden steps of the cabin I thought
about that day with my boy Kenny.
We had left before dawn pulling my Bayliner boat behind us toward
the launching pad in Sonoma. Kenny loved to go
early in the morning like this for these ugly, smelly Sturgeon,
and this morning I was sure glad to have him along.
Things had been rough for my boy; school was so terribly hard
and once he started having trouble it just seemed to multiply.
I thought, "How can one of your kids be so gifted and the other
have such a hard way to go?"
I glanced at the boy and he was looking straight ahead
and still wide awake. I said, "Kenny, gonna catch a big one today,"
and he responded, "Boy, I hope so, Dad,
but not as big as the giant that guy caught from under the Napa bridge.
We would never get it in!"
We reached the boat ramp in a few minutes,
and I moved the boat into its launching position and started slowly
backing down the ramp.
As we moved toward the water, I heard his door come open
a crack and thought,"He is excited today."
Kenny got out and walked down to the murky edge of the water.
I knew he would be fine. He had gotten so good at releasing the boat,
I just did not think much about it anymore.
Out the channel we went with our boat moving slowly
until we cleard the zone. It was about a mile out to our favorite
fishing spot and I gave the boat a little gas now
to get us out there quickly. Slowly we coasted into to our anchoring
spot and Kenny dropped it perfectly.
I let the boat drif back until it was tight on the rope
and we were ready to fish.
I baited his hooks first and tossed them out 50 yards
or so and then started on mine.
Suddenly it was "Dad! Dad! Look my pole!"
I jumped up and went to it and it was bowed nearly staight down.
The fish was strong and I had a hard time getting the pole
out of its holder, but I finally did, handing it to Kenny.
Again, "Dad! Dad! I can't hold it!"
I jumped a little as the cabin door opened behind me,
and there stood a sleepy Robin. "Going fishing now," she said.

I would come back to Tin Cup, Mirror Lake, Taylor River and the
Gunninson River many times thereafter.
But there would never be another day like that September day
in 1992. Little did I know that in a mere four years,
Robin would be in Texas with her husband, George,
and I would have my beautiful grandson Austin.
Yes, she had gotten her wings, and was flying
her own path now, as I did when I was a mere 16 years old.

I moved on, taking an early retirement from Freedom Newspapers,
my second home for 20 years.
First it was to build a newspaper supply business for Bob Keenan from
Tennessee in the western states of Colorado,
New Mexico, Utah, Nevada, Arizona, California,
Oregon and Washington.
Then my old friend, Bruce Blackwell, called me and wanted
me to come up to Napa, California, to get his paper back on track.
After a year it was completed, and then it was on to Eureka,
California, one of the most beautiful places in America,
where "the Redwoods meet the Ocean."
I was to take over that newspaper's Circulation Department
and get some growth and restore customer service.
It took a full year. Then I headed down to Texas to spend
some time with my children, Robin in Wichita Falls,
then Kenny in the tiny farming town of Olton.
While I was in Texas, I got the phone call from my old associate
in newspapers, Cyndy Griffin, who wanted me to clean
up problems in the world's largest courier business
that she had joined as a manager.
First I worked in Denver then finally back to my beloved
Colorado Springs and her office there.

Thinking back through it all, I had managed newspapers in several
states and had the good fortune of working with some of the finest
publishers and owners in the business.
Not bad for the barefoot Mojave Desert boy!

Later in 2000 Robin, her precious son, Austin, and husband,
George, would move down to Florida, even further away.
And I would worry over how often I would get to see the ones
I love so much. But that is life.
Our children need us, we nurture them, raise them and love them,
then it's their turn to get their wings and move on, just as it was
ours. We swallow the lumps in our throats,
wish them happiness, and give them those wings.
I wonder if my Mom and Dad felt the same kind of deep sadness
yet happiness for me as I feel for my baby Robin?

Life goes on. I am getting older; the minutes left are speeding
by me so quickly. I no longer feel indestructible.
I realize, painfully, that I only have so much time left for
my loved ones, and, hopefully, for a newfound
relationship that will develop into a loving companionship.
I suppose that each of us asks ourselves at some point,
"How will it all end?"
I wonder that myself, today, as I pen these words.
Will someone be beside me? Will I be alone?
Does it even matter at the end?After all, we start with nothing;
maybe we should end as we started.
But, no matter what the end results of my life are,
I will always have that day in 1992 to remember.
I hope my last breath is on that shoreline on Mirror Lake
watching that beautiful family of Colorado Mule Deer,
eat, drink and play.

Life changes and it can come so quickly and with so much surprise
that we all should remember that whatever our lives are now,
tomorrow it could all be different.

Cherish what you have today, tomorrow only brings tomorrow.

Bobby

Written by Robert Smith
March 21, 2000

Dedicated to my children, Robin, Kenny, Bobby, Lori
and my two grandchildren, Austin and Ashleigh, the
Colorado Mountains, Mirror Lake and Tin Cup, Colorado....
may they all stay as beautiful as they are
in my mind this day.