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Welcome to a special edition of the Bunkhouse Podcast. I'm Josh Crumpton, the Sporting Conservationist, and today we're wading into different waters In the wake of John Grock's recent passing. I've set aside our usual format to share a personal story, a reflection on the time I spent with this legendary angler and author at a Michigan fish camp. Grock's words have long been a guiding current for many in our community, shaping how we think about fly fishing, conservation and our place in the natural world. This episode is more than a tribute. It's an exploration of how one voice can ripple through generations of anglers, leaving an indelible mark on our shared passion. So settle in by the fire, pour yourself a drink and join me as we cast back to those days on a secluded deck in Michigan where I had the privilege of sharing stories and casts with John Grock himself. This is the Bunkhouse Podcast. Let's begin. The news of John Grock's passing hit the fly fishing community like an unexpected thunderstorm on a bluebird day. As I sat at my writing desk surrounded by dog-eared copies of his books, the weight of the moment settled in. I'd shared a camp with a legend, and now he was gone. Garak wasn't just a writer. He was the voice of an entire generation of fly anglers. His prose flowed like the rivers. He loved carrying readers along currents of wisdom, humor and unvarnished truth about the sport and life itself.

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Today, I'd like to share the story of the days I spent with John at Fish Camp in Michigan, where I had the privilege of experiencing his company firsthand. The camp, hosted by Kirk Dieter and his wife Sarah, brought together a group of anglers, with John and I among them. I arrived on a warm, early summer evening, the air thick with the scent of pine and the promise of adventure. There I found John looking every bit the part of the trout-bum philosopher weathered hat, comfortable shirt and demeanor that put everyone at ease. As we gathered around the dinner table that first night the clinking of utensils mingled with relaxed laughter I found myself struck by how utterly ordinary it all felt. Here was John Garak, whose words had shaped my angling philosophy and whose books had a permanent place on my nightstand, casually discussing the day's fishing as if we were old buddies. The cabin, scattered about the property, provided our sleeping quarters, but it was on the beautiful, secluded deck, nestled among the Michigan woods, where the magic happened Each evening, as we returned from our separate fishing adventures, we'd gather to share meals and swap stories under the canopy of trees.

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The soft glow of lanterns illuminated our faces as night fell, creating intimate atmosphere for our discussions. John didn't dominate these conversations or hold court like some visiting dignitary. Instead, he engaged with a quiet intensity, his eyes twinkling with interest as he absorbed each tale. Occasionally he'd punctuate the discussion with an observation or a gentle joke, his words carrying the weight of decades on the water. One evening, as we sat on the deck, the conversation turned to casting techniques. On the deck, the conversation turned to casting techniques. John, who had been quietly observing the exchange of ideas, spoke up in his characteristically understated manner. He shared his philosophy on casting, boiling it down to a simple truth there are only two types of cast those that catch fish and those that don't. It was vintage grok, cutting through the complexities and technicalities to get to the heart of the matter.

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Throughout our time at the camp, john's knowledge seemed boundless, but it wasn't delivered in lectures or sermons. It came in offhand comments, small observations and the occasional story that started with a reminiscence of past fishing adventures. Before you knew it, you'd learned something profound about reading water, presenting flies or understanding trout behavior, all wrapped in a tale that had you chuckling and nodding in recognition. Each day we'd head out to different beats on the river. The water was calm and flowing, a peaceful backdrop to our angling pursuits. John carried with him a bamboo fly rod that had probably seen more rivers than most anglers will fish in a lifetime. This rod, like John himself, seemed to hold countless stories of waters explored and fish encountered. I was fortunate to spend a little time on the water with John, an experience I'll always treasure.

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While our time fishing together was brief, it was significant. Our evenings were filled with recaps of the day's adventures, the deck alive with animated gestures and laughter as stories were shared. One night, as we sat on the deck surrounded by thick woods, the light faded in an ambient way, softening the edges of our conversation. John and I had a chance for a more personal exchange. We talked about writing and the challenges of conveying the essence of fly fishing to those who might never pick up a rod. John's passion for the craft was evident, but so was his humility. As my time at the camp drew to a close, I found myself wishing I could stay longer. Unfortunately, I had to cut my visit short and leave before the others Saying goodbye. I felt a mix of gratitude for the experience and regret for the conversations and fishing yet to come that I would miss. John's parting words were warm and genuine, expressing appreciation for shared time and understanding. Little did I know that this would be our only meeting and that the future fishing trips I had hoped for would never come to pass.

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Now, as I reflect on John's passing, I'm struck by the depth of his impact. He was more than just a great writer or a skilled angler. He was a philosopher of the streams, a chronicler of fly fishing, life in all its frustrating, beautiful and absurd glory. His legacy lives on, not just in his books and articles, but in the way he inspired us to think about our time on the water. As I close my eyes, I can still see John sitting on the secluded deck, surrounded by the lush Michigan woods, his voice soft but engaging, as he shared some bit of hard-earned wisdom wrapped in a witty observation about the peculiarities of trout and the anglers who pursue them. I'm reminded of something he once wrote, which seems particularly poignant now. Reminded of something he once wrote which seems particularly poignant now the solution to any problem work, love, money or whatever is to go fishing. And the worse the problem, the longer the trip should be. Well, thank you, john, for taking us on such a long and wonderful trip. The rivers won't be the same without you, but they're infinitely richer for having known you. May you find endless risers and perfect drifts, wherever you are now.

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John Garak, 1946-2024, was a preeminent American author in fly fishing literature. Over a career spanning more than four decades, he authored 20 books, including the influential Trout Bum. Garak's work appeared in notable publications such as Gray's Sporting Journal, field and Stream Trout Magazine and the New York Times. His writing style, characterized by his wry humor and philosophical insights, earned him recognition as the voice of the common angler by Wall Street Journal. Garak received the Roderick Haig Brown Award from the US Federation of Fly Fishers in 1994 and was inducted into the Fly Fishing Hall of Fame in 2014. The following year, in 2015, he was also inducted into the Catskills Fly Fishing Hall of Fame. Grok was a staunch supporter of Trout Unlimited. His dedication to conservation was steady as his casting arm and, trust me, that's saying something. Grok's contributions significantly shaped modern fly fishing literature and influenced how the sport is perceived and practiced by enthusiasts worldwide.

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And that wraps up a special edition of the Bunkhouse Podcast. Today we've taken a different path, dedicating our entire episode to a personal reflection on the late John Grock, a titan in the world of fly fishing literature. This story, born from my time with John at a Michigan fish camp, is more than just a tribute. It's a glimpse into the profound impact one angler's words can have on our shared passion for the water, the fish and the timeless art of fly fishing. Now, I know this episode breaks from our usual format, but I hope it's given you a moment to reflect the voices that have shaped your own outdoor journey. Whether you're a longtime Garak fan or new to his work, his influence on our sport is undeniable. In our show notes you'll find a list of John Grock's most influential books, perfect for those loving to dive deep into his wit and wisdom. We've also included links to some of the conservation organizations John supported for those inspired to carry on his legacy of stewardship. As always, your support keeps this show casting into new waters.

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If you enjoyed this special edition, please take a moment to subscribe to the Bunkhouse Podcast on your preferred platform. Your subscription helps to ensure we continue bringing you these stories and insights that celebrate our outdoor heritage. I want to thank you for listening and being a part of our community of sporting conservationists. Your passion for ethical hunting, fishing and outdoor stewardship is what drives us to keep exploring these narratives Until next time. This is Josh Crumpton, the Sporting Conservationist, reminding you that sometimes the best stories are told in the quiet moments between casts. Keep your lines tight, your spirits high and your respect for the water ever flowing. See you on the next adventure.