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woodriverlandtrust
Protecting the heart of the valley...nowand for the future.
Winning Writings & PhotograPhs of the
6th Annual
Heart
of the
Valley Contest
presents
prizes generously donated by:photography Judges:
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Writing Judges:
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sponsored by:reCeption Volunteers:
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Winning photography Will be ondisplay at the FolloWing loCations:F 12 - 19bjc g
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Visit us online
WWW.WoodriVerlandtrust.org
and see what we have planned!
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1994 2009
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6th Annual
Heart
of the
Valley Contest
table oF Contents1 pc a p,
Reels on the Big Wood
tm & J bk .................................................. cv 1 pc a W,
One More River to Cross
r s ...........22 pc a p,
Little Fish
t am .....................32 pc a W,
Seasons on Silver Creek
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................................................................................ 4
3 pc a p,
Recharge
b s .........................53 pc a W,
An Aqueous Canticle
l bw ........6 - 7s Fv a W,
Nature Nurture
Mc sw ..........8s Fv a p,
Feet
b s ..........................91 pc s W,
A Storm of My Wildest Wishes
l l h ............................................................................101 pc s p,
Caught by a Fly
J ak.......112 pc s W,
My Daily Shower
ec Wm .......122 pc s p,
Out by Beautiful Eagle Creek
e g .........................................................................................133 pc s W,
The River Is My Soul
Jm Wm ........143 pc s p,
Big Wood River
ov g .........15s Fv s W,
Ice on the Water
bk l. lwc .....................................................................16letter FroM theexeCutiVe direCtor,sCott boettger
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Indian Creek Rainbow
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Reels on the Big Wood
(c cv)photographer CoMMents:
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It wasn’t until the sun bounced o the Big Wood River directly intothe scratched plane window that I considered, even or a moment,that things might, just might be okay. We had been traveling or seven hours, my three young children andme. The trip began in Connecticut well beore dawn, a trip we hadmade many times beore. But today was dierent. Today our tickets were one-way; the start o a journey that everyone called a resh start, whatever that was, rom a divorce that had torn us asunder.Suddenly, there it was. Curving through the Bellevue armland,swollen in late June run-o, glinting in the midday sun. I could eelthe pull o the current against my legs. I smelled the slightly mineralriver smell. I breathed my rst breath o the trip. We were home.I rst set a elt-soled boot in that river in 1983. Most people come toSun Valley to ski. My amily came here to sh. At 13, I’d never beenon a ski lit, but I had been plodding around rivers, rod in hand, oryears. My ather used to only hal-kiddingly advise me, “You’ll needto know how to sh so you can go with your husband.” I do, and Idid, and I actually taught him to fy-sh. But so much or that.The last stop on a sweep o western trout rivers, Sun Valley’s legend-ary waters drew us in and kept us coming back. I, a recalcitrant teen,initially spent as much time sitting on the banks o the river, a bikini
One More River to Cross
by Robin Sias
top under my waders, a book in my hand, stubbornly not shing.But that made me love the river even more. Catching is satisying.But wading, casting and even just sitting, staring and listening,eclipse a sh on the end o a line.The older I got, and the more time I spent in the Valley, the louderbecame the call o the rivers. Trail Creek and Copper Basin. The BigLost. Dierent waters, equally mesmerizing. The rst time I stood waist-deep in the strong pull o the Big Lost and looked up at thatmountain range, I knew that someday, I had to live here. North o town, south o town, above the reservoir and magical, mystical Sil-ver Creek. Rivers that disappear into mythical underground caves,rivers o no return.My Ketchum kids will be river kids. They understand the stillnesso the river, even though it is constantly fowing. They appreciate itsmeandering purpose and its sense o play as it eddies and circles back upon itsel, never in a hurry. They somehow intrinsically already know the peace that rst glimpse o river provides. When I glimpsed the rhythmic waters o the river as we approachedthe airport, I trusted it. The rivers would cauterize the wounds. They would wash away sins and baptize new beginnings. The running wa-ter would ground us and listen to us and give us its gits.
1st plaCe adult Writing
2
2nd plaCe adult photography:
Little Fish
by Terry Afdem
photographer CoMMents:
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3
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