I'll preface this by saying life is short. Do the things you talk about before you cannot, tell the people you love that you love them before you cannot.
Some moments you never forget. When Jill and I heard the news, we were just into Friday night Happy Hour in front of a fire. Rich was gone. I dropped the phone, told her the news and was speechless for a long while.
We had talked at the end of the summer about a visit here in May. The opportunity for early season stripers in skinny water, a side trip to fish for browns and bass with my other buddy Rich, a trip to Fenway and God willing, a trip to Sully's on the way to the Garden to see the Bruins in post season play. I had meant to call at Thanksgiving to catch up and get the ball rolling. I didn't. And now, as hard as I try, I can't recall what was so important I had going on that I didn't make that call.
He was a big dude. To those of us who knew him, he was a giant, both in presence and stature. When you got to know him, you found that his size and strength were only surpassed by the depth of his heart and infinite devotion to his family and friends. I only spent a few days in the presence of my friend. At my age it seems awkward to refer to someone I had very little personal interaction with as one of my best friends, but he was. Our friendship began on Instagram. Like all good ones, it started over a dog, fly fishing and a shared passion of the Boston Bruins. He read everything I've written here on Backwater Flats and commented either in text or calls on every piece. Whether I thought it was good or poor, he always urged me to keep writing in my voice because "some will get it, some will not but some of us love it."
I wrote about the beginning of our friendship in 2014 at Dog Tales. In 2016 I wrote about our family visit to Folly Beach and time spent with Rich and Jeanette at Low Country: Chapter One. We had talked about additional chapters. I regret now they won't be written.
Rich, Jeannette, their dogs Tuck and Murphy, and their family were talked about in this house as often as any other family member. When Tuck passed, we spent nearly an hour on the phone laughing, crying and talking about the impact of all the dogs in our lives and how the special ones really alter your life. Facebook check-ins, text messages, Christmas Eve phone calls, random conversations. Family stuff. That's the way I will remember it. And all bonded on one short conversation while he and I were fishing with Tuck in That Place That Shall Not Be Named while we were there for my daughter to visit the University of South Carolina. It became the anchor of our friendship and will remain in place as long as I live.
He handed me a beer, climbed back up on the poling platform and said, "If Abby comes here for school, there's always a place for her here, we'll watch over her like she's one of our own."
After that, we ended all our conversations with, "Love you, brother."
Which is why Jill and I, flew down to Charleston to be with Jeanette, family and friends for Rich's Irish Wake. Exactly how he wanted to go out, his people all together telling stories and being together to remember him. I wanted to be there for Jeanette but also to meet two of his friends, Nate and Jeff, who he had introduced me to through social media. There had been talk about me making a trip to South Carolina fish with these guys. It just didn't happen. Jill and I thought under the circumstances, it would mean a lot to Rich for the three of us to meet. I'll say this, Rich chose his friends well. That fishing trip just might happen yet. And I hope to reciprocate with a trip onto my water with them in Rich's stead.
As I start to write this, we are waiting for our flight back to Boston. My heart is broken but full. For the last two weeks all I've had on my mind is a comment Rich put on one of my blog posts detailing a trip out to Martha's Vineyard to fish the Derby in 2015. He wrote:
"Life goal: to be included in one of Mike Rice's fishing stories 'cuz they are about fishing and yet so much more. Good stuff, man. Good stuff."
These words bounced around my head as we all gathered in the living room and his daughter Lauren gave the Irish Toast. Up to that point I had held the tears back. As she spoke, they fell from my eyes. I looked up and saw a print on the wall of Rich and Tuck walking out on a grass flat. I had seen it before. I actually shared a similar moment with both of them. For a second I felt like I was in that image. And then reality hit me, and I realized he was gone, somewhere in the hereafter.
I cried more.
Jeanette came across the room and hugged me. I tried to speak but couldn't. She said, "He loved you." There are no better words to describe our friendship. That's the way I'll carry it with me.
Before we left, I took another look at that print on the wall.
Rich Walker, I'll say this, thank you for including me and my family in your story. It started out about fishing but ended up being something so much more.
Good stuff, man. Good stuff.
Slainte!
We love you, brother,
Mike, Jill & Abby
4 December 2022
Littles Pond, MA
