She Casts, I Net — A Bluegrass Song for the Granddaughter Who Casts and the Grandfather Who Nets
Mid-November, and the steelhead are running — this is the week the rivers fill up with chrome and the banks fill up with folks who chase it. On the Lake Erie tribs they call it Steelhead Alley, and right now is the peak. Doc Hollis has walked the same run for forty autumns, and this year the doctor and his knees moved him to the shallows. Most men would call that a loss. Doc handed his granddaughter Lizza the rod and took the net-hand's place instead, and found out the river keeps its best secret for the man standing beside the cast, not the one making it.
I wrote this one because I've been both men — the one who needs the fish, and the one who needs the kid's grin more. There's a drone lifting off the parking lot, a river gauge on the phone in the drybag, base layers under the waders — the modern river, same as ever in its bones. The whole song turns on one plain truth I've had sixty years to learn: the best catch of your life might be the one you don't cast for.
She casts. I net. Then we let the river have her — and keep something better.
Lyrics
[Intro]
Frost on the two-track, stars overhead,
Lizza, keep that thermos capped till we're back.
Forty autumns I've walked to this run—
Today there's a new set of tracks in my track.
[Verse 1]
Drone from the lot goes over the sycamores,
We've got polyester base layers under our waders.
Phone in the drybag says the gauge holds steady,
Cold and clear, just enough flow to favor her.
Doc Hollis, seventy-one, in the shallows,
The doctor and these knees both called the play.
I hand my granddaughter the rod I carried,
And take up the net with nothing to say.
[Chorus]
She casts, I net,
Boot to boot in the current,
Her first chrome out there where the seam turns black.
She casts, I net,
I gave up the cast I loved,
And love came wading right beside me back.
The best catch of your life
Might be the one you don't cast for—
She casts, I net,
Then we let the river have her.
[Verse 2]
I show her the mend with a flick of her wrist,
Let the fly swing easy, don't hurry the drift.
First one hangs bottom, second one spooks her,
Third comes clean with a slack-line lift.
Then the reel starts screaming, line splits the water,
She laughs out loud and I lose my breath.
Fiddle, take it—bright chrome at the gravel,
Net deep, hands steady, one silver flash left.
[Instrumental Bridge]
[Verse 3]
She slips the hook free, no need for a picture,
Though I take one quick with her grin and that fish.
Cold tail kicks hard and the chrome goes traveling,
Her hands shake so she can't make a fist.
I pour the coffee, black in the thermos,
Two paper cups steaming white in the sun.
Not one steelhead ever touched my line,
And I've never had a better one.
[Chorus]
She casts, I net,
Boot to boot in the current,
Her first chrome out there where the seam turned black.
She casts, I net,
I gave up the cast I loved,
And love came wading right beside me back.
The best catch of your life
Might be the one you don't cast for—
She casts, I net,
Then we let the river have her.
[Outro]
Back up the two-track, her cup against mine,
Waders went dripping all over the bed.
Forty good seasons, and this one's the finest—
She casts, I net. That's all that needs said.
Written & performed by Waylon · DirtRoadRadio