I recently sat at my desk, to work on a presentation I made at Ladybird Books in Charleston, S.C., in support of my new book (written with Matt Supinksi) called A Fishable Feast; Fly Fishing and Eating Your Way Around the World. Exciting times and I am happy.
In times like these, an author thinks about the many… many… people who support a book project in different ways. I am very grateful for all the people who rallied behind the effort.
But tonight, I’m especially thinking about my late friend, Chris Santella.
Now… the thing is, you might naturally think that people who write books and stories about fly fishing are inclined to compete. And, while it’s true that there’s only so much ink, so much spotlight and especially so much money to be made (which isn’t much) by writing about fly fishing, the real truth is that it’s a very close-knit community, and for the most part, we go out of our way to support each other.
Nobody… and I mean nobody, embodied that spirit more than Chris Santella.
One of the best… at it all
Santella not only had supreme writing chops, but he also had a vision and a plan. His 50 Places to Fly Fish Before You Die was nothing short of brilliant, because it made people dream.
That grew legs, and became its own cottage industry, extending into other endeavors like golf, scuba diving and what-not.
On top of that, Santella was the man, especially when it came to writing about destination fishing. He was the source The New York Times, Washington Post and others turned to when they hankered for a story on the next best place.
He could report on issues.
He could write fiction (Belgian Flats, if you never read it, you robbed yourself of some seriously good stuff).
Heck, the guy even worked on a fly-fishing themed opera.
He was a musician and cut tracks with his band.
He literally did it all.
Fast friends until the end
Santella instantly became one of my best friends in 2010 when we went to Alaska to film “The Kodiak Project” together.
From there, he’d make a point to bring me along on other adventures… Ireland… Russia… beyond—him covering the angle for NYT and me for Field & Stream.
I talked him into writing regularly for TROUT magazine. He crushed every assignment.
But then he came home from a trip to Alaska experiencing blurred vision and went on to discover he had a cancerous tumor in his head.
Around that time, I had told him about this book idea I had kicking around combining food and fishing.
He thought it was a winner.
He helped me make the book pitch. He gave me some contacts and rallied support behind the idea. He coached me even though he knew he was nearing the end of the road.
I got the call from my friend, Tim Romano, that Chris died as I was sitting on a bench along the River Frome in southern England. I immediately thought I probably would have never been in that place, had it not been for the wanderlust bug Santella planted in me. Almost exactly one hour later, I also got the email from Rizzoli that said they wanted to publish the book. I do not think that was a coincidence… not in the least.
A treasure of a human being
Santella’s fingerprints are all over this book, and I feel his influence all the time.
In our travels, we would often play guitars together.
Sometimes he’d just bust it out and play (like he did in the counter line at the airport in Ireland… the other people clapped along). Grateful Dead… John Hyatt… Eagles… Rolling Stones, and many more… the songs played made the fishing parts seem relatively small in comparison in relation to a genuine friendship.
As I spoke at the bookstore, I decided to write this down, but I’m also playing my guitar, thinking of all the songs Chris and I played together and plucking away in his honor. It’s salve for my soul.
Santella was one of the very best to ever write about fly fishing. And he was one of the best human beings to ever do so.
If you haven’t read him yet, find him. His spirit will always live in the fly-fishing world and well beyond. He was nothing short of a treasure and a great, great man.