The Salt of the Earth: Flip’s Final Gift
As I sit reflecting on the man from “My-am-uh” and the legacy he left, I begin to recall the outpouring of love and sentiment that came in the days after his death.
The news hit me like a 1/0 Clouser to the back of the head. Scrambling to find sources in support of what I hoped was one of those idiotic death hoaxes, I found nothing but confirmation of the latter. The realization dropped like a lead weight from the screen of my iPhone to the pit of my stomach: Flip Pallot, dead at 82.
I pinched my own arm and squeezed my eyes shut, hoping to wake up from a bad dream, but my consciousness and reality stayed the same, as did the truth–Flip was gone.
Nearly a year has come and gone and it’s still hard to accept that the last “bye for now” was his final one. In his eight decades on this planet, Flip gave fly fishing and the sporting world at large many gifts, his unmatched passion for wild places and the conservation of them ranking high among them. As I sit reflecting on the man from “My-am-uh” and the legacy he left, I begin to recall the outpouring of love and sentiment that came in the days after his death, the words of so many who were impacted and inspired by him. Most didn’t focus on accolades or contributions, but rather compassion, generosity, hospitality and friendship.
A few words resurface in my memory from photographer Chad Smith: “What struck me most was how much he cared about people, about wild places and about preserving what matters. You could tell he carried strength with kindness, wisdom with humility.” This quote was one of countless others with the same sentiment. It was apparent Flip’s legacy extended far beyond Walker’s Cay into the hearts of those who got the chance to know him. Flip had garnered respect and admiration not only because of what he had done, but because of who he was.
Preserving what matters. I say the words out loud. They seem to hit me differently from when I read them a year ago. Suddenly, something unexpected dawns on me: Flip has given us one final gift–an incredible postscript in the letter of his life. The reminder to preserve what matters. Wildlife, wild places and wild pursuits, yes. But maybe even more so to preserve and appreciate the relationships that are so often born from those pursuits.
Relationships with people who, seemingly in an unfair balance with the rest of society, are a genuine, humble, good-hearted, dependable bunch–the salt of the earth. That phrase, the salt of the earth, I first heard at 9 or 10 years old from my grandpa. I could see the respect gather in his eyes when he used it to describe another, and because there was no one I respected more than “Pops,” the description carried weight that others didn’t. So far in my own life, I’ve only known a few that deserve the label. One, I was reminded, because of Flip, came from fly fishing.
I got my first full-time job fresh out of college as the fly-fishing manager of an outdoor retail store in Tulsa, Oklahoma called Backwoods. I was incredibly underqualified as a source of fly-fishing knowledge at the time, having had my first fly casting lesson only about six months prior, but I’d been bit by the bug and was eager to learn. I immersed myself in the fly world–books, magazines, YouTube videos and picking the brain of everyone who walked through the door.
It couldn’t have been more than a month after I started that Greg Dodds, owner/operator of Check Ur Fly Guide Service, walked into the store. I recognized him instantly from the stack of business cards that sat atop the fly display promoting his services. I held guides in a higher regard than common folk–still do most of the time–so, he was already a bit of a celebrity in my mind. I was eager to meet him. I don’t know if it was in the first fifteen minutes or fifteen seconds after shaking hands, but I brashly invited myself to chase striped bass with him on a nearby river.
Greg, always gracious and unassuming, accepted my self-invitation with enthusiasm and it wasn’t long before I was holding my first fly-caught striper on the deck of his Supreme 207XP. A core memory made and the beginning of a friendship that’s nearing the 10-year mark, one that I consider to be of my best.
On the water and off, Greg has been a constant in my life over the past decade, always there as a sounding board as I navigated early marriage, job changes, a growing family and life in general. Greg’s that friend who never lets you down, whether he’s on the sticks navigating the river and pointing out the next smallmouth, or supplying a late-night jumpstart in an unsavory part of town–no matter the place, no matter the time, Greg will be there. Putting others first, always. Strength with kindness. Wisdom with humility.
My mother told me once that you can consider yourself a lucky person if you can count five good friends on your hand. I’ve been lucky to hold onto several great friendships I’ve collected over the years. My friendship with Greg Dodds is one of them. I’m thankful to fly fishing for the introduction. He is the salt of the earth.
There isn’t an endless supply of the salt of the earth. God chooses who he graces with it and how generous of a sprinkling they get. Take the time to appreciate the ones you know who have it, and tell them that you do. After all, we truly don’t know how much sand is left in our hourglasses–let’s all do our best to preserve what matters.
Thanks for the reminder, Flip.
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I swear I’m gonna try and find those Walker’s Cay Chronicles and watch every single one of them again. I remember how excited I was to tune in when they first aired. Those shows were simply the best fishing shows I’ve ever seen. They inspired me to put down my trout rods and head for the flats. Nobody before or since has presented fishing stories like Flip. You could tell what kind of guy he was from the shows. Humble, solid, real. Back when the culture wasn’t as monetized, or bro’d, or clever.