Gutted. I think that’s the only way to describe hearing that a friend has passed on to that undiscovered country.
There are a lot of stories we could tell about Dave Grossman. Some I only would tell over a fire and some whiskey. Dave was hilarious. He was chaos at times, but in a good way that made you shake your head and also admire him.
He always made me feel welcome in the south. He opened up his home to me years ago so I had a place to stay when I was down in Asheville, tying at some event. On that trip I fell down his front steps in the morning, broke a few ribs, and that afternoon caught food poisoning. I was in hell, 9 hours from home, and Dave still made me laugh. Which sucked. A lot.
Dave was a hell of a fly fisherman and he could build a community like no other. The talent he poured into and the doors he opened for fly fisherman looking to cut their teeth writing and photographing for Southern Culture on the Fly always made me respect him. He made things happen and people gravitated to him.
I’d always hoped our travels would bring us together again. I’m going to miss that man, and it really sucks to see someone so young leave this place, but I’m damned glad to have known him.
My prayers are with Dave’s family and all those who knew him. Though it’s hard to lessen the cold sting of death, those memories we all share will help over time.
My hope is that he’s casting a streamer on some river in the great beyond. A shitty beer not far from his hand.
Rest is peace, my friend.
