It is no secret that I love the month of May. June is a close second. You can fish almost anywhere for almost anything and have a banner day. Sure, it is still fishing, but this time of year there’s ample promise for an angler. During a mid-May weekend at the end of the middle school softball season there was a travel softball tournament on my calendar. I was made aware of the fact that there was, in fact, a body of water next to the fields. The Shiawassee River. Now, I don’t mince any feelings I have about fishing. My family knows it occupies my thoughts. It’s complicated and I don’t expect anyone to understand something that I struggle to understand myself. I feel like my wife understands it best though. Evidence solely by the screenshot I received from her showing softball fields and the river in the same view the week of the tournament. With very little time to prepare for the weekend, I threw some things together. The pile was a perfect showing of how prepared I was to fish unknown water, for unknown fish, with unknown time. I had never fished the Shiawassee River. I did however have some prior knowledge that the Shiawassee River and the area around it, were heavily polluted. A quick Google search yielded various different species of warmwater fish in the Shiawassee River. Knowing how resilient some of those species of fish were, I prepared for what I could. On the morning of the tournament I set up my chair along the left field fence and located the powerline I knew I needed to follow to get to the River. I rigged my 7wt with a white articulated streamer and set-off. After crossing a running race course and a very nice walking path with crushed limestone, I entered the River. As I did, I looked over my head and saw my first of many Baltimore Orioles that day. Then more and more bird life. Including a peculiar little shorebird (maybe) that I could not identify on the wing. It just kept flying up and down the river. The water was clear. The bottom was solidly composed of gravel, sand, and large rocks. I felt immediately transported to somewhere completely wild and untouched. I could not wait to read about the Shiawassee River water quality. It seemed from my observational standpoint, a very healthy river. Thanks to the Friends of the Shiawassee River I learned that night that the River was highly polluted by municipal sewage, industrial waste, fertilizer runoff, excess sediment, and trash. In 1983, part of the River was even considered a Superfund site by the Environmental Protection Agency. This means the river needs long-term support to clean up the remnants of its abuse. Thanks to the Clean Water Act, the River began to heal itself. The Friends group then noted that the River has made great progress in becoming more healthy, supporting 60 species of fish, too many birds to mention, and even some globally threatened species of bats and insects. It never ceases to amaze me how poorly humans treat the things that give us life. On the day I stepped into that River, I felt as though I was disturbing something that was healing. All I did was wade into the river, cast a few flies, and make contact with a few fish. It still felt like I was intruding. The next day before softball started, I went down to my newfound fishing spot. This time with waders. I noticed many runners with race bibs running down the same running trail. Then I noticed kayak paddles moving through the trees as I approached the River. After the first dozen or so kayaks I had a feeling those kayaks were only the beginning. Then a gentleman paddling down the river said “good luck, there are about 200 other kayaks coming behind me”. I was wading in the middle of the Shi-Tri. A running, biking, and kayaking triathlon. Ironically, the Shi-Tri benefits the Friends of the Shiawassee. Not to be put off by a hatch of plastic tubs hurtling down the river, I decided to use this to my advantage and fish the banks away from the heaviest traffic. It was comical listening to people comment on how it must be hard fishing in the middle of a race. It was very pleasing to catch rock bass and smallmouth bass in the middle of a triathlon. My perceived intrusion from the day before now seemed so minute compared to the watery interstate I was now wading. We all had the same goal that day. Whatever it takes to save the water.