A week ago today, I was looking forward to fishing with my good friend Mike Pittsinger the next day. Actually, I was looking forward to exploring a new native American tipi ring village site with him I had discovered on the Upper Madison. He’d fish of course, but we both had developed a keen interest together in exploring the various villages of tribes in the valley. Neither one of us had ever found an arrowhead. This was the place we were going to devote serious time to looking for one. I couldn’t wait to show him.
It was not to be. Mike passed unexpectedly, taken from us far too early on August 19. The day before our next float. A shock to his family and all who loved Mike. One of the most genuine men I’ve ever known. My heart still breaks. I still lose sleep over him. A list of memories with him parade through my mind on a daily basis. It doesn’t seem real. I miss him.
Mike found me through this blog. Through my writing. Before we even spoke a word for the first time, our common sense of humor bonded us. I had written some silly satirical piece on fly fishing and it made Mike lose his mind laughing. He called me and introduced himself and we had a good laugh together within seconds of speaking. One of many laughs we’d have over the seasons in the drift boat. Everytime I wrote an entry on my blog, Mike was the first to text or call to tell me how great it was. It’s hard to imagine this one sitting in his inbox, forever unopened.
I’ve always said that the first time you fish with me, you're a customer. The second time, you’re a friend. Some out there are like family. Mike and I connected so well, and he became family to me. Over the seasons, he’d come to my kids’ birthday parties, help my daughter with her archery, send gifts in the mail, and always bring me a cigar on our floats. My family and I recently went on a canoe trip to Minnesota in the Boundary Waters Wilderness Area, and Mike rush ordered two big Thermacells before our trip, “for the skeeters” he said. That was just the kind of person he was. I’d call Mike on my days off to see what he was up to and we’d go fishing. We explored some different waters around the area together and never failed to have a blast together. I cherished his friendship.
I’ll tell just one story that my mind seems to focus on, which brings a smile to the tears.
Last year, his son Josh joined him for an annual trip fishing big salmonfly dries on the Upper Madison. It was a cold wet day midway through the hatch in late June. The cool temps had limited the hatch activity, and the fishing was slow. We hooked some good ones for sure, but opportunities were few and far between. We had just entered the cottonwoods above Varney in a driving rain on the right bank. Josh was in the front and Mike behind me, when suddenly a boat appeared on our left and immediately pulled in front of us to fish the bank we were already on. A faux pas for sure. Rookie guide. Busch league move. Fuming inside because we were all working so hard for that one big fish, I wasn’t going to let this stooge ruin it for us. I stood up forgetting my oars and began yelling at the guide. Not very typical of me, but that’s how I learned, after all. And as I was in the middle of my monologue tirade, Mike slipped a cast under some willows tight to the bank. He knew how to fish this fly so so well. I had taught him how I liked the fly fished and he was damn good at it. In an instant a giant brown ate the fly and we landed it in full view of the other boat. Karma’s a bitch, and Mike delivered it with impeccable timing. We had such a good laugh about that. Still to this day, that moment is my all time proudest in my guiding career. I think about Mike every time I float by that spot. Mike was by far my most frequent customer during the salmonfly hatch each season. The hatch won’t be the same without you man.
The sport of fly fishing has brought many new friends to my life. And I’m thankful for each and every one. As I try to grapple with the loss of a close friend, I remind myself of that, and all the great times Mike and I had together in this place that was and is so special to both of us. Writing this helps. This week his family will travel to the valley, to see and experience what Mike loved. We’ll spread his ashes amongst the 50 mile riffle that captivated him so much. I feel so fortunate to have known him.
Water is life, and Mike will live on in the Madison’s currents. RIP brother. May your memory be a blessing to all of us who knew you. I can’t wait to find that arrowhead for you, my friend.
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