First, let me say that I am not roasting a 25-pound salmon for Thanksgiving dinner. I love the traditional Thanksgiving turkey dinner with every hi-cal accompaniment possible. But as I'm devouring turkey bathed in rich brown gravy along with forkfuls of buttery mashed potato, savory stuffing and the rest, followed by a bowl of warm Indian pudding with whipped cream -- and quite possibly a slab of pumpkin pie as well -- I'll be thinking of fish, fishing, and all the things an angler should be thankful for.

I am thankful that this planet still is home to some clear, cold rivers and streams wherein dwell wild fishes. Likewise I am thankful for deepwoods ponds ringed with cedar and spruce that remain undefiled by motorheads.

I am thankful for the astonishing leap of the salmon, for the impossibly beautiful sunset orange of a brook trout's belly; for the push of the current against my legs; for the rise-ring of a trout on the still surface of a pond; for the heart-stopping moment of a strike; for the graceful lines of a canoe.

I am thankful for the magic wands we call flyrods, and for the anglers who use them; for the courteous angler who shares the good spots; for the organizations such as Trout Unlimited whose good works help to preserve what's left of the dwindling resource.

I am thankful for the tyers of flies who do it so much better than I do; for the jaunty ride of a perfect dryfly down a sparkling riffle; for the mysterious unseen drift of a nymph.

I am thankful for the warmth of the camp stove in the chill of a Fall evening, and for the warming cup o' kindness shared with my brother and fellow angler; for the writers of fishing tales that help to pass the long Maine winters; for the painters who capture the beauty of the fish and the places where they dwell.

Happy Thanksgiving!