October 5, 2026
New York City
Dear Eric,
Yesterday I left Comfort and drove down to the city… Manhattan to be more precise. I needed to connect with my boss and HR and finalize plans for my retirement in December.
I truly believe we live our lives in chapters, and this very long one needs to close. My boss very charitably suggested I could stay a few years, but doing the math on an actuarial chart, if I’m to have another productive career chapter, I need to leave now.
It’s fitting that in the midst of this change of seasons, I’m so focused on what is next. My winter will be spent in hibernation, studying French and thinking about the future, like a bear dreaming through the winter of a new start and a new world.
On my trip down, I saw dozens of anglers in the various rivers that cross the 81 and 17- casting, hoping for a strike.
There is a romance to fly fishing that I admire, hip deep in the water, completely connected with the water and the rhythm of its flow. Casting, waiting, casting again.
Fishing on a big river like the St. Lawrence is different.
The channel next to Comfort is very narrow and 170 feet deep. Muskie and ancient sturgeon lurk in the depths and then it rises suddenly to a shelf. The bass fishing around Comfort is some of the best on the River. The number of fishermen surrounding the island is testament to that.
The folks who sit off Comfort Island sometimes have the latest gear, the most robust fish finders and the slickest fast boats determined to score the biggest and most fish. And in their desperation, they have cast into our boathouse and onto our docks.
I once watched in amazement from our beach as a boat came almost to shore, got his line fouled on the floating dock and just snipped off the line and drove off, leaving his lure deeply embedded into the wood.
Fishing, I’ve thought recently, is a lot like dating.
I think if I fished, I’d be like the bear… instinctual and patient. I think at this point in my life…it’s how I date.
Perhaps after the winter, I’ll be hungry again.
In any case, the Spring looks promising.
We missed you this summer. Please come back next year.
Stephen