Many years ago, on a cold, rainy fall day, I decided to go fly-fishing at Kolob Reservoir. There were lots of changes going on in my life, and I needed some time to myself and a break from the rigmarole of daily life. At that moment, I was feeling stuck, floating through life’s motions from one mundane task to the next. This trip was my attempt to anchor myself, even if just for a few hours. Equipped with neoprene chest waders, a rain jacket, hand warmers, and a fly box full of freshly tied flies, I was prepared for a day of quiet reflection with little expectation of actually catching any fish.

It just so happened that the steady drizzle of rain had kept most of the other fishermen at home, giving me the entire reservoir to myself. As the rain fell in a rhythmic patter, creating a symphony that harmonized with the still waters, I sat in my float tube and felt a sense of tranquility wash over me. The world around me faded, leaving only the reservoir, the rain, and the fish that I sought.

I cast my line with the precision of a seasoned fly fisherman, my newly-tied wooly bugger dancing on the water’s surface briefly, waiting to find its prey. The deserted reservoir seemed to breathe in unison with me, serving to calm and steady my mind.

The first tug on my line came as a surprise. A rainbow trout, vibrant and swift, took off with my line. My heart raced as I reeled it in, feeling a connection to the fish and the reservoir that was almost spiritual. I admired the fish for a moment before releasing it back into the water. This, I thought, was what I had been missing: the simplicity of the act, the connection to nature, the break from the relentless noise of life.

As the day wore on, my fly patterns proved irresistible to the rainbows. One after another, they bit, and I found myself in a rhythm, a dance with the reservoir. I lost count of how many I caught, each one adding to the sense of fulfillment that was growing within me. The big rainbows, though, were wily. They would take my fly and roll, twisting and turning until the line snapped; I lost nearly all of my flies to these aquatic giants.

As the day drew to a close, I sat in my float tube, soaked and tired but deeply content. I had come seeking solitude and peace, which I had found in abundance. More than that, I had found a connection to something greater than myself, a reminder that there is a world beyond the daily grind, a world that moves to its own rhythm.

I walked away from Kolob Reservoir that day with more than just the memory of the fish I had caught. I walked away with a renewed sense of purpose, a reminder that taking time for myself was not just a luxury but a necessity. The reservoir had taught me a valuable lesson about health and wellness. It wasn’t about the fish, the solitude, or even the peace of mind. It was about the act of stepping away to take time for my mental and physical well-being and allowing myself to be fully present in the moment.

Life requires all of us to take a step back every now and then—to breathe, to reflect, and to simply be. As you read from this issue of the magazine, I hope that you will find what you are looking for and that it improves your health and wellness!

Best Wishes,

Brendan Dalley