00:00:05 Speaker 1: Welcome to This Country Life. I'm your host, Brent Reeves. From coon hunting to trot lining and just general country living, I want you to stay a while as I share my experiences and life lessons. This Country Life is presented by Case Knives from the Store More Studio on Meat Eaters Podcast Network, bringing you the best outdoor podcasts that airways have to offer. All right, friends, grab a chair or drop that tailgate. I've got some stories to share. High Water, and the Mayfly Project. Hunting season is in swing in every direction you want to point. So this week, let's talk about fly fishing. We're going to talk about fly fishing, but we ain't going to be talking about fly fishing. And that's going to make more sense once we get started. So, join me at the fire and let's get to it. This first story comes to us from this Country Life listener and fellow Arkansan, Russell Pauley. Russell is coaching girls basketball and track over in the bustling metropolis of Bigelow. Coach Pauley, his wife Cassandra, daughter Demi, and son Malachi are living the good life in Perry County. And he sent this story in about his stepfather, Jim Bibb, as told to him by his mother, Miss Peggy. So, In the words of Russell and Miss Peggy, and the voice of me, here we go. Fishing with my husband, Jim, was always more adventure than one expected. He loved the outdoors and fishing. Even though he was in his 60s, he looked on every trip and every fish caught with the excitement of a child experiencing it for the first time. I had long since quit fishing with him from a boat. As I said, fishing with him was always an adventure, and the last boat trip was a little much, but when he took up trout fishing using a fly rod and wading in knee-deep water, I felt safer and was glad to be his fishing partner again. We watched a trout fishing movie with Brad Pitt called A River Runs Through It several times. He loved the part where Brad Pitt kept his rod and fish after falling and riding the rapids down the river, and Jim studied the casting techniques, and he bought us both the best waders, fly rods, and equipment that he could afford. Since trout fishing in Arkansas takes place in the cool tailwaters below the dam, he also schooled me in the sudden dangers that come when water was released from the dam. He taught me to listen for the horn that signaled a water release, and if you couldn't hear the horn, how to look for faster floating leaves and debris the water temperature change, and the fog that signaled the release of water further upstream. And above all, never ever trust the recorded message on the number you call for the water release schedule. Sometimes it was right on schedule and sometimes it was not. Having fished most places in Arkansas, we ventured on into southern Missouri to Table Rock Lake. It was Wonderful. Such a beautiful place. Every trip was special. He could hardly contain his excitement. I always reminded him of the safety precautions before he scurried to get his spot among the many fishermen. And as his head was nodding in agreement, I looked into his eyes, glazed over by excitement, and realized, just like the fog on the cold water, everything that I had just said had drifted right past him. On this particular day, the parking lot was full of vehicles, and the river was full of fishermen standing elbow to elbow. So when I developed a headache and decided to go back to the hotel for a short rest, I felt comfortable leaving Jim to fish. It was only 11 a.m., and the water release was not scheduled until 4, so I had plenty of time. About 1 p.m. when I returned to the river parking lot, there was not a vehicle in sight. The parking lot was totally empty. All the fishermen were gone, a sure sign that water was being released from the dam. I hoped Jim had not been sitting on the bank waiting for me too long. Patience was not his strong point. As I went down to the river's edge to get Jim, I noticed the fog was floating along the river and the leaves and debris were moving along at a good clip. Jim wasn't there. I figured he'd caught a ride to the visitor center with another fisherman, so I got back in the car and I drove the short distance down there. Still, no Jim. I saw a group of fishermen chatting and packing up to leave. Jim was not among them. Still, no panic on my part. I scanned the area looking for him. The fog parted and way downstream, out in the middle of the river, I saw a tiny dot of color. It was Jim. Waste high water and he was trying to make it. across the river. I sprinted back to my car and I raced back down to the parking lot where Jim would emerge from the river and he would need help getting up the bank in his wet gear. As I reached the river's edge, I could see the water had risen dramatically and the leaves and debris were rushing by and frantically I called out and then I shouted his name and no answer. Then, in a moment devoid of sound, I looked at the cold rushing water and I knew Jim was gone. He had been swept away. Trying to get it together, I knew I needed to call 911. I got out my phone and there was no signal. Holding my phone to the sky, I walked up the hill in the middle of a parking lot and finally, finally picked up a tiny signal. It was enough. Garbled words spilled forth from me as I told the 911 operator that Jim had been swept away. I said to wait where I was. It would send the river rescue. and the signal died. Pacing all alone in the middle of the big parking lot waiting for river rescue, reality began to sink in. Even a strong swimmer could not fight that swift water and strong current. His chest weighters would have filled, and he would be dragged down in the water. It was all over. He was gone. I felt my knees start to bump. Just as I was about to give in to despair, I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I turned, and there, appearing from nowhere, stood an elderly lady. She asked me what was wrong. Between sobs and gasps for air, I told her the gem had been swept away and the river rescue would be here soon. She said she would stay with me until they got there. She kept reassuring me that he would be fine. I was grateful for what she said, even though I knew in my heart it wasn't true. Meanwhile, on the other side of the river, Jim had washed ashore. His waders had indeed filled with water, and wet from head to toe, he climbed up the riverbank. Knowing I would be frantic and never having had a need for a cell phone, he now needed to borrow a phone to call me. He sloshed his way over to a nearby house. He knocked on the door and then rang the doorbell. No answer. could see the phone on the wall just inside the door so close yet so far away. Never one to be deterred he tried the doorknob. The door opened and Jim being Jim marched right in to use the phone. The call did not reach me. I had no signal on my side of the river. However the signal that did reach was the signal to the alarm system that summoned the police when burglars break into houses. Now back on my side of the river a hellish wait was going on it seemed an eternity had passed and river rescue had not arrived pacing and searching for a signal I finally found the spot to pick up a signal and I called 911 again they had been trying to reach me as well Jim had been found the police were holding him and they would bring him to me if the owner could confirm nothing had been taken nothing had been taken What? My mind was boggled. I told the lady who stood by me and comforted me that he was okay, that he had been found. And she smiled and just said, don't be too mad at him. Before I could say more, the police car with Jim in the back seat pulled up into the far end of the parking lot. I took half a step toward the police car and finally remembered my manners. And I had not even asked the lady her name or said thank you. And I turned around to say thank you. And she wasn't there. She was gone. She had vanished into thin air just as mysteriously as she had appeared. The sheriff came around the car and opened the back door to let Jim out. Jim emerged, still soaking wet from head to toe. And Jim being Jim, raised up his fly rod, laughed a thunderous laugh and said, Look, I'm as good as Brad Pitt. I still have my fly rod. I don't know what kind of look came into my eyes at that moment. Maybe my eyes turned a fiery red or maybe sparks and flashes of green light flashed from them. But the sheriff took one look at me and he stepped back and looked at Jim and said, Oh man, I don't think I'd be saying a word right now. That looks tells me she doesn't think that's very funny. How did that lady know to tell me not to be angry? What is the explanation of how she appeared and disappeared from my sight in an instant? Who knows the answer, but for me, I don't need an explanation. To this day, I think she was an angel sent to me in a time of great need. I think the sheriff was probably Jim's savior, too. Well, Russell, thank you for sharing Miss Peggy's story about Jim. It's a testament to the willingness of others to help a stranger in a time of need and a great example of faith over fear. Reassurance in a period of desperation can come from the least likely of sources. We just have to listen for it with more than our ears. It was smoking hot outside and the event I had just attended was all about duck hunting, a cold weather sport that was hard to imagine ever cooling off enough at that time to even be possible. I was coming home from a Delta waterfowl event in Iowa, a state that makes me think about deer hunting more than waterfowl, but again, the heat I'd left there a couple hours before had followed me to Chicago and the only thing I could think of was getting home and under some air conditioning with the usual suspects at Casa de Reeves. I travel a lot, and I rest very little when I do, so the flight home routinely turns into a long nap, interrupted with a change of planes in Chicago or Dallas. It was on the second leg of my nap in two parts that I settled into my window seat and started getting easy, as my grandfather would say, the ritual of getting his nest made just before he started, quote, unquote, resting his eyes. Now some racket caught my attention, and when I opened my eyes up, I saw a fellow stow a fly rod case in an overhead bin and then take a seat right behind me. Well, that's a man that I can talk to, and I had every intention of doing so before we got going good. Then I fell asleep and was returned to reality with a jolt of gravity when we went wheels down in Little Rock. I started gathering my things once we stopped at the gate and asked the man, when he pulled that rod case from the bin if he'd caught any fish. He smiled and said he recognized me. He had his whole family with him and hoped to talk to me before we got separated in the terminal. Well, I gathered my plunder and told him I'd wait for him. A few minutes later, a whole squad of Westbrooks filed off the plane and running point was the guy with the rod case. His name was Jess. Things like this happen a lot. The reach of this show never ceases to amaze me, and I credit it only to all the people who listen who have more similarities than differences. It had been my intention to say something to a stranger because of a fleeting feeling of kinship because I recognized him as a fellow fly fisherman. So when he said he knew who I was, it was still a bit of a surprise. He told me he had caught some fish. and Ireland of all places. Jess happens to be the coach of the U.S. youth fly fishing team, and they were bringing home the silver medal after competing with the rest of the universe for top honors. Ireland seized the home field advantage, taking the gold with 82 fish, best in the U.S. by 16. Following for bronze was Slovakia. Nine teams from around the world qualified. The U.S. team was the only representative from North America. Brent, what? Why did you say it like that? Are you insinuating something about our friends north of the border? No, I didn't say anything about their silver medal in Olympic hockey. I was talking about fly fishing in Ireland. Now, as I was saying before being accused of picking on the Canucks again, Jess is a fly fisherman and apparently so is his family. But his involvement doesn't stop with coaching a team of youths representing our great nation or the time he spends with friends and family fishing for sport. No, not by a long shot. Jess Westbrook and his wife Laura started a non-profit that mentors foster children into fly fishing called the Mayfly Project. Jess gave me a brief introduction of what they were doing as we stood in the airport, and as anxious as I was to get home to my girls, I couldn't quit asking them questions about the focus and mission of their organization. We exchanged information, took a few pictures, and I hightailed it home. I told Alexis about it as soon as I got there, and the next morning, I looked at their website. Culminating from there. and that chance meeting at the airport in July was our next face-to-face encounter last week after numerous emails and texts when I attended their annual fundraiser in Little Rock. An event that spun out of an idea Jess had at church over a decade ago and his own realization of finding peace on the river when fly fishing. A pet project of sorts that he and his wife Laura and others have turned into an international event 5013C nonprofit with chapters, or projects as they call them, in 32 states and the United Kingdom. The event I was invited to last week was their national fundraising banquet called Mending the Line. It's the only such event for this entire organization. From the beginning in 2015 until 2025, the Mayfly Project has mentored 2,300 kids on 11,500 river outings. Here's how it works. After an exhaustive and thorough background investigation and mentor training, a foster child that's been enrolled receives five mentored one-on-one sessions with their mentor in groups of three for safety and accountability. Jess has a habit of saying it's about fly fishing, but it's not about fly fishing. Sounds contradictory, but it's not. I sat at a table with my friend John Howard, who went with me to the banquet. Also joining me at the table was a board member, Carl Canoto, and his wife, Kim. Bass Pro Shops and Cabela's Outdoor Fund Operations Manager, Morgan Sarvis, along with Josh and Rebecca Baker. Josh is an Arkansas State Park Ranger, and he and Rebecca are both accomplished fly fishers. She's been a mentor for the Mayfly Project and is an appointed commissioner for the Arkansas State Parks. She has a great story, and I'm going to do some fishing with them later. I'm going to let her tell you all about it then. It was a great group of folks to share a meal with. The banquet runs like most fundraising events. There are silent auctions and live auction items. And one of the items was a coon hunt with old Waylon. We've done a few of these things now, me and this old dog of mine. And this morning while nursing a cup of java before the sun came up and while he was still snoozing, I did some figuring in my brain parts and added up what that rascal has been responsible in donating to worthy causes. While I don't have an exact figure, I know it's without a doubt north of $ 25, 000. If you think back to Jess Westbrook's quote referencing fly fishing, I'll add this one. It's about coon hunting, but it ain't about coon hunting. It's a gathering of folks who appreciate the opportunities they've been afforded in the outdoors to introduce others who may have less of a chance to experience the same thing. I love helping folks because it is my belief. That is why I'm here. That room was full of people that I'd have a better chance of meeting driving down the highway than I would on a trout stream. But they were there to support the vision of Jess and Laura, a vision that uses fly fishing to teach a heck of a lot more than how to catch a fish. The following is straight off the Mayfly Project website, and it explains exactly what takes place and how it all works under the heading, What We Do at Our Outings. Here it is. You meet at multiple locations once every two to four weeks, and outings last one to four hours depending on the outing time set by the lead mentor. Mentors teach fly fishing skills such as casting and knot tying, fly tying, picking flies, reading the water, and catch and release fishing. We also teach on topics that we call the characteristics of an angler that include having patience, building self-confidence, finding grit, taking care of the environment, and seeking wisdom. Children also earn buttons for participation and they participate in our conservation initiative. We provide a one-on-one mentor ratio, but we do everything in a group and have a three-in-a-group safety policy. Providing a physically and mentally safe environment for the children we mentor is our number one priority. The second is fun. At the final outing, Every child that has participated with our projects will receive fly fishing gear to keep and a specialized curriculum to continue to learn about fly fishing. I'm pretty sure that's what Jess means when he says it's about fly fishing, but it ain't about fly fishing. Reva's going to post some links in the show description. I'm going to have some available on my social media. You got to check them out, please. I'm begging you. And if you're wondering, Old Waylon helped raise $ 6, 000 for the project that night. Enough money to outfit 40 foster kids with what they need. Man, a big part of that was Jay Langston and his wife Blair, and Kyle Ferguson, who wasn't there but had someone bidding in his place. In a soon-to-be-determined date and time, we'll cut the pups loose and see you by treeing a few banditos with those boys. The Mayfly Project was an organization I was totally ignorant of only a few months ago. Now I find myself thinking about all the ways I can help and getting others to help as well. My inspiration coming from a few stats that Jess and his team put together that really brought home the importance and reach of their mission. Check this out. They surveyed the caregivers, whoever oversaw caring for that kid during their time in the program and the kids. It says 85% of the kids felt that they were able to leave behind some of their problems while they were out there fishing. 96% of the caregivers believed their child was able to take a break from their struggles. 100% of the caregivers say the child's mood had improved after fishing. And 100% of the kids who responded said they had fun while in the project. And maybe one of the strongest answers revealed that 100% of them that responded wanted to continue fishing after the project was done. I can tell you from my own struggles with stress and the things that come with a career where the focus of the job led you to the worst of humanity, fly fishing helped me in ways I'm only now fully realizing. So why choose fly fishing, especially for kids? because it works the same way, and the answer is also straight from the website. The mediative rhythms of cast and mixed with common effects of time and water and having a positive mentor available are the ideal combination for a child in foster care to find brain reset and mental rest, improve self-esteem and self-confidence, create positive memories, find a positive hobby and coping mechanism for managing stress. and find an anchor in the outdoors and learn about conservation. I'm going to tell you, the outdoors are what saved me. I was fortunate to be born into a legacy of tradition and outdoor heritage, so the things I needed to succeed in that space were readily available. The skills were secondhand and taught to me from an early age. The equipment necessary was mine already, or I could borrow it from a family member. I was blessed since birth to have family members and mentors take the time to help me and show me those things from my early, early age. Things that would unknowingly be used to benefit my mental health. Everyone else is not so fortunate. That's where we can pick up a little slack. Y'all check out themayflyproject.com and see for yourself the wonderful work that TMP is doing. There are 32 chapters available. 32 states, and there's an interactive map on the website that'll show you the exact places where you can volunteer and how to do so. They've even got swag on there that you can buy. Stuff we all get, and it's a direct support of what they're doing. It's a wonderful thing, and I appreciate it very much if you just do me that favor. Thank y'all so much for listening to all of us here, me, Clay, and Lake. And until next week, this is Brent Reeves signing off. Y'all be careful.