His name actually isn’t Nick. It’s James. Everybody called him, Jim, except me. I called him, Nick. It wasn’t long after we first met that he discovered I was a fly fisherman. I had fished the length of most of the running water in the area. I tied flies for different streams and even different sections of streams.
Nick was a retired professor from Northwestern University, intelligent, well-read, well-traveled, and witty. He asked if I would take him fly fishing. We chose a day in late spring. We headed to a stretch of the Oconto River where I caught some trout a few days earlier. Unfortunately, the river was up nearly a foot. It was difficult to keep the fly in the sweet spot very long. It was hard to even know where the sweet spot was. We spent a lot of time scrambling through elder bushes from one spot to another. I wasn’t aware that, throughout the day, I was referring to him as, Nick. You see, he looked so much like Nick Nolte that I just kept calling him, Nick.
Finally, in a somewhat irritated voice, he blurts out, “Who the hell is this Nick guy you keep referring to!” That’s when I realized I had been calling him Nick all day instead of, Jim. I pointed out his strong resemblance to Nick Nolte and how that just got stuck in my head.
Jim thought about it for a minute. Then, with a sly grin and a tilt of his head, he said, “I guess I can see the similarity.” It was a bonding moment. From that day onward, for me, his name was, Nick. I painted the watercolor featured above as a gift to Nick to remember our day on the river together.
Over the next few years, we spent quite a bit of time together. I visited him and his wife, Karen, at their home in Evanston, Illinois. He spent time at my home in the northwoods of Wisconsin and local hangouts. We had great conversations about politics, art, books, travel, nature, and birds. Usually over contraband glasses of Havana Club Rum I had smuggled out of the Cuba.
Eventually Nick and his wife relocated to southern California. I visited him there not long after they moved into a beautiful home just north of San Diego. Our connection slowly diminished with the distance between us. Then one day, he sent me a message. He told me he had decided to move into an assisted living community.
A couple months ago, I received an invitation for a website he had created to share his poetry and other musings. I was thrilled and promptly subscribed. It was going to be great to read his words and remember our times together. Then, a couple weeks ago I received a message from Karen. Jim suffered a terrible fall and passed away.
In her message, Karen urged me to visit his website. She said, “You will hear his special voice in those poems.” And later, “He is out there wandering around the universe somehow/someplace. Listen for his voice.”
Well, here’s to you, Nick! (raising a glass of Havana Club Rum). I will be listening for your special voice. And that joyful, youthful laugh you shared often.
Tight Lines, my friend
Nick’s blog can be found HERE
Click HERE to visit the portfolio page for original works of art.
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