Jeff wrote... "I was ecstatic when I received a text from Cameron inviting me to float down the Thornapple River with Allen Campbell on the oars. It felt like a long time coming. After years of working with Cameron from afar, with emails and texts, countless collaborations, we had never met face-to-face. Now, I was going to have a day on the water with him, exploring a river I hadn’t yet fished, sharing a boat with a veteran guide, and doing what I love most: fly fishing and drifting down a river.
For years, we had tried to make this happen, only for prior obligations to get in the way. But this time, the stars aligned. Not only would I finally put a face to the name, I’d experience a piece of water that felt both new and promising."
"As an Industrial Designer, one of the most rewarding parts of my job was creating journey maps
—
visual stories of how people interacted with a product, or how they
went thru their day getting their job done captured through words and
sketches. Sometimes it was as simple as words scrawled on Post-its,
arranged in a sequence. Other times it was rich illustrations capturing
moments, thoughts, feelings, and discoveries. The goal was always to
understand a person’s experience more deeply — why they acted, what they
felt, and how design shaped their journey.
Today, in retirement,
I call this story sketching, and it goes hand in hand with fly
fishing. Both are about paying attention. Both require being present.
Both teach patience and reward practice.
With a fly rod in one
hand and a sketchbook in the other, I can capture moments that a camera
might miss: the sound of a rising fish, the way morning mist rests just
above the surface of the water, the camaraderie between friends. The
pages of a sketchbook carry the sights, the smells, the feel of a day on
the river, moments captured with a pen, shaped by emotion, and shaped
by experience.
After a memorable float down the Thornapple River,
saying goodbye to Allen and Cameron felt bittersweet. Driving home, I
reflected on the moments of the day, the fish we missed and the fish we
landed, the laughs shared between strokes of the oars, the quiet spaces
between conversations. The incredible shore lunch.
I
pulled over, opened my Field Notes® notebook, and jotted down thoughts
and ideas before they could slip away. The next morning, I pulled out
my sketch book and began working. What I love about this process is how
words and images intertwine. Simple drawings capture moments a camera
might miss. Compositional elements guide the viewer’s eye across the
page. Sometimes the layout evolves into a multi-panel scene, almost
like a graphic novel. Sometimes it doesn’t work as intended, and that’s
okay. It’s about trying, practicing, and growing.
Through story
sketching, I can capture moments that photographs can’t. The sound of
the river whispering past the boat. The feel of a fly line unfurling
across the water. The quiet thrill of seeing a fish rise, the pull on a
streamer and the straightening of the line, and the sound of a reel
singing as the line goes tight. A photograph can freeze a scene, but a
sketch can carry its heartbeat. Storytelling in this way goes beyond
words and images, it’s about emotion, atmosphere, and remembrance. Its
about translating sights, smells, and textures into moments that can be
felt long after the trip has ended.
Drawing people has never been
my strong suit. But like fly fishing, it’s a discipline that humbles
and inspires. Day after day, I practice — doing quick studies and
mastering the lines and gestures that make a person feel real. Viewers
notice when something is off, and that pushes me to try harder, to learn
more.
For
me, the best moments aren’t just about the fish we land or the places
we travel, it’s about how we remember them. Story sketching has become
more than a hobby; it’s a way to relive moments long after the lines
have been drawn, the watercolor washes dried and the pages have been
closed.
Through ink and paper, I can capture more than a scene — I
can capture its soul. The sound of a rising fish. The quiet
anticipation between casts. The friendly chiding from the guide,
sharing stories as the river flows by. A photograph can freeze a moment
in time, but a sketch can preserve its movement, emotion, and
atmosphere.
Each trip adds another page to the journal, another
chapter to the adventure. Story sketching doesn’t just document where
I’ve been, it reminds me why I go. It blends the sights, sounds, and
feelings of a day on the water into a language that speaks long after
the trip has ended.
So, if you’re planning an adventure — a day
on the river, a journey down a trail, or moments worth remembering, I’d
be honored to join you as a "Visual Trip Reporter". Together, we can
capture the story that only your adventure can tell, one line, one
stroke, one moment at a time. After all, every trip has a story worth
telling. And every story deserves a sketch."
