How do we begin, when the light goes out of our lives and our profession? Our families have been friends since shortly after Rhys and I met in 1969; we were neighbors in Melbourne for months. When they were last here, we went up to a lake on the east side of the mission mountains, Rhys navigating a road meant for pickups, a lake none of us had ever seen. It was covered in mist and as we watched, a thin sun broke through to the far shore and began to advance across the water toward us. In its softly lit path small silver cutthroats began to rise, flashing, coming with the light spreading across the water almost to our feet, the fog still clinging to the pines and slopes behind the lake. All in silence. That’s how I’ll remember Rhys.
University of Montana