On a brilliantly clear weekend in August, 2010 I attended a three day retreat for women who are thriving despite the harsh treatments for breast cancer. This retreat occurs in many states throughout America. They are called Casting For Recovery. The one I participated in was held in Lynchtown, Me. I hope the area was named for a person; not historically a place where people were hanged. At any rate, the camp, Bosebuck Camp lies in the depth of the Maine woods on the extreme western border of Maine. Our cabins are set very near the banks of Parmachenee Lake. Our hosts, the Bosebuck Camp owners, and retreat staff members treated us with love, respect, and honor. The food was scrumptious! We attended group meetings where we were able to share how having cancer has changed us and what we have learned from this scary yet, in some ways, Holy experience. We were taught two casting types and fly knot styles, about wet and dry flies, and stages of bug evolution. On Sunday morning, Maggie, our spiritual guide led us in a magical soul journey on the tip of the dock where loons sang and the morning mist shrouded us. We read poetry, picked up a stone that spoke to us, placing into it our fears, then tossing that fear, releasing it from us, into the lake. I felt honored when Maggie invited me to lead the women in singing an ancient spiritual created and sung by slaves in their own misery decades ago, My Lord What A Morning. And what a morning it was! That afternoon expert male fishing guides joined us. One sweet young man tied my fly on and even did the surgeon's knot I'd learned the night before. Some of our female staff are also expert fishing guides. They took us to a river where rapids spit through boulders and slid into pools where fish rested on their way to the spawning grounds in which they were born. This stretch of water is one of the few bodies of water not controlled by the Inland Waters Assoc. In fact, President Eisenhower fished here in 1954. I was ten then. Not wanting to hurt the fish, we used barbless hooks and caught and released the water Beings. Eight fish wanted my fly, only one was a Brook Trout, the others were Chub, a bottom-feeder. My guide, Sheri, a retired surgeon, cheered me on and taught me much about fly fishing. It is amazing how this experience helped me feel stronger and more self-assured. The act of casting a very long line above and behind one's head is a lesson in trust and paying attention to one's body, telling my arm to wait (even counting to three) as the line snapped behind my head, so I knew when to snap it forward again. I am ever grateful to the wonderful people who took the time and patience to make this retreat a powerful healing.
