Stepping into a remote, free-flowing mountain stream saved him. His life changed forever that day miles from the mean, inner-city streets that almost killed him. Alone with his own thoughts, a newly purchased fly rod in hand and the sounds of nature all around him, he stepped in. He found a different kind of peace at that moment. Scot was saved from a life of crime and self-destruction by water and fly-fishing.
I did not know the Scot of old. The man I met here in Spokane last year was living his best life. He was a devoted father and married to Christy, the love of his life. He was a passionate angler and professional fly-fishing guide and served on the board of directors for the Twin Cities Chapter of Trout Unlimited in his home state of Minnesota. Scot turned a first-time streamside experience a dozen years ago into a way of life. It soon became his purpose to share with others his love of fly-fishing and the transformative power of nature.
You know you have met that special someone when as strangers, meeting face-to-face for the first time, they don’t extend a hand for the traditional handshake or fist bump. Rather they open their arms wide and invite you in for a hug. While holding you there, they whisper a warm greeting like lost family. Scot was that kind of person.
I wrote about him a few months ago telling about the time he came to Spokane in October of last year. He loved rivers, fly-fishing and he was full of mischief. A small handful of us, black and brown fly anglers, became a close family during that visit. I say “was” because we are now planning a Celebration of Life for him. Scot was here in October, diagnosed in January and died Aug. 14 at 56.
One evening last year while a few of us were just hanging out over beer, wine and pizza he randomly wanted to talk about river bugs and how we should live purposeful lives like them. He reminded us of what, we, as fellow fly anglers already know, that river bugs don’t live very long. Some live as long as three years on or near the bottom of rivers and streams where they go through their early stages of development. But once they swim or crawl to the surface and become adult versions of themselves, their clock is ticking. Their life as an adult is now reduced to only a couple of days at most. Imagine, he said, they must learn to fly, avoid being eaten by birds and fish, find a mate, lay their eggs and die. They live well, he said, never taking the life they are living for granted. We are left to wonder now if Scot somehow knew something was up.
Aggressive treatment began almost immediately but the cancer had already spread beyond his pancreas. In April I went back to Minneapolis for a visit. Scot greeted me with open arms and with a half-smile cautioned me not to hug him too tight. The conversation was awkward at first. I did not want to be the one to bring up the obvious. Fortunately for me, he did. The news was hard to hear. Quickly though the conversation turned to fishing and his Ubuntu family. And a plan was hatched for us to fish together the next day.
Despite his constant battle with nausea and fatigue due to the chemo drugs and the cancer that was eating him alive, he wanted to take me to one of his favorite rivers and fish the day away. He noticed my reservation, then reminded me that a river and fly-fishing saved his life once and he had faith that it would do it again. Tomorrow will be about living well, he said, living with purpose and not dying.
A friend of his met us there and once we rigged up, we posed for a selfie with the Rush River in the background. Once he stepped into the water, it was like a light switch in him had been turned on. He waded and cast his fly with accuracy, energy and confidence. He was home–he was where he was meant to be.
When I saw the text message on my phone from his wife Christy, I knew that the news would not be good and it wasn’t. Scot had passed away the night before. She wanted me to know that he made her promise to call me right away so that I could let his Ubuntu family know. She also wanted me to know how much he loved being here last year and how much he loved each and every one of us. We meant the world to Scot, she said.
By the time this story appears in print we will have hosted a Celebration of Life for Scot on the banks of the Mississippi River at a spot he knew well. Members of his Ubuntu family and Scot’s 12-year-old son Cooper will have just floated and fished the river together. We will have gathered with friends and family, fresh off the river just as he would want us to do. It will be a time for storytelling, for laughs, for tears and for his favorite dinner of soul food.
Scot’s life was cut short, or was it? Maybe, just like the river bugs he loved to talk about, he had done everything he was supposed to do. He lived and loved with purpose, he gave life, shared unbridled joy and was full of mischief. I believe his gifts to those who knew him are—find and live your purpose; and continue to tell the stories of those whose lives were forever saved by spending time in nature. The world has lost a very special human, one who was saved by a trout stream.
Dr. Bartlett is a retired educator from Gonzaga University in 2007 and Eastern University in 2020.