“Before I sought enlightenment, the mountains were mountains and the rivers were rivers. While I sought enlightenment, the mountains were not mountains and the rivers were not rivers. After I reached enlightenment, the mountains were mountains and the rivers were rivers.”
—Zen Buddhist proverb
n countless photos of a flyfisher holding a steelhead—in books and magazines, on Instagram and Facebook—most grasp their fish in the standard glory pose: lifted just above the water, one hand behind the pectoral fins and the other around the tail. Some fish are bright silver, so fresh from the ocean that sea lice still cling to the body. Others have a vivid orange band down the side of their fat bellies. Sometimes there is a scar; a dark line left from a run-in with a commercial net, or a short curve from an otter’s teeth. Males will occasionally have jaws that culminate in protruding kypes—menacing points that mark their return from the sea. To the uninitiated, these images are merely a trophy on display, the prize at the end of a quest. But to others, these photos represent a
