Norm

The constellation of north Texas fly fishing lost one of its biggest stars this past weekend - Norm Goheen. If you knew Norm, you know that words find a difficult time describing his larger-than-life character. I have one of his business cards which states:

Norm Goheen's Rod Repair & Alchemy

Lies told
Tales spun
Rumors verified

Youth sought

Age achieved

Secrets revealed

Dry flied sunk

Tailing loops made

Rivers waded

Waders filled

"Piscaro itaque dicet mendacium"

Norm did it all in the world of fly fishing; spey casting for Atlantic salmon to building fine rods. I have a little one wt. rod I use for small, alpine streams when backpacking that Norm made for me a few summers ago. Hopefully, Norm will be there with me next summer chasing cutthroats in the Weminuche.

I had the honor of taking him on one of his last fishing trips; stalking carp on the flats of Ray Roberts. Norm had resisted for years - saying that he'd "rather catch a brick in the backyard" or "I'll go - but you'll have to hook, fight, and take the fish off - and clean my rod when you're done!" I was so happy when Norm agreed to go and commented on his choice of rods - an 8 foot 6 wt. bamboo (of course) that he made years ago. His reply was classic Norm . . . "I hate this rod. I was hoping one of the ugly bastards would break it."

So, in fine Celtic tradition, here's an Irish wake poem for Norm:

God saw you getting tired and a cure was not to be.

So He put his arms around you and whispered "come to me."

With tearful eyes we watched you, and saw you pass away.

Although we loved you dearly, we could not make you stay.

A golden heart stopped beating, hard working hands at rest.

God broke our hearts to prove to us, He only takes the best.