There is something about 11 mile canyon (when it is not so
busy), that reminds me of paradise. It is like Eden.
With its abundant fish populations feeding on numerous hatches through out the
summer this place is teeming with life and possesses a certain beauty that mimics something of
paradise.
Perelandra (C.S Lewis) is a fictional fantasy story about
another planet; a complete paradise before the fall. It is truly Eden.
There are no divisions. On Perelandra the relationship between the natural world and the woman who
lives there is quite different than on earth. A human visits this
planet and experiences some of these relational differences as he tries to figure out why he has been sent.
His name is Ransom and has been sent from earth to
Perelandra on this unknown mission. He lands and roams
around this beautiful paradise and quickly encounters the "otherness' of this place. He becomes thirsty. He wanders through a forest and sees these great
globes of yellow fruit hanging from a tree. He accidentally pushes one of his
fingers through the fruit. He puts the hole up to his mouth and drinks. The drink
is so wonderful that Ransom could never quite describe it when he returned to
Earth. To him it was a whole other category of pleasures; something he never
experienced on earth. What is most interesting to me and how this perhaps
relates to fly fishing is his reaction to this pleasure. He is about to grab another fruit and drink
again but he stops. He does not stop out of guilt or fear. He just stopped. CS Lewis writes;
“He was about to pluck another one, when it came to his head
that he was now neither hungry nor thirsty. And yet to repeat a pleasure so
intense and almost so spiritual seemed an obvious thing to do… Yet something seemed opposed to this
reason.”
What was this “something”
that seemed opposed to his reason? Perhaps Ransom was under the influence of
Perelandra and that influence had altered his relationship with the natural world and with himself . His response was different and “unearthly”. It is difficult for us to understand. Another explanation could be that God was influencing Ransom directly
through nature. I am not sure how or why but somehow he was
satisfied even as his rational mind which had been so conditioned on earth to repeat
such pleasures urged him to drink again.
I draw a parallel with this story and experience on
Perelandra to our catch and release fly fishing rivers and the need of some higher consciousness. Is there a mechanism, a "something" inside of us
that when we have caught fish that whispers, “Enough, I do not need to repeat this
pleasure over and over again”. I know
for me I have been the type of fly fisher who often continued to feel the need to catch fish after fish, not
so much for the repeated pleasure of the experience, and not even to build up
my fragile ego as a guide, but rather because I am
somehow often under the compulsion of the experience.
I get the sense that so much of what I do in this life is under some kind of a compulsion, a form of addiction rather than out of thankfulness and joy or even
for the sheer pleasure of the experience. In fact it not just my relationship to the fish and nature that seems "off". It is, in some sense, with everything. There is a sense, however faint, of brokenness.
Yet, in my “old age” there are times when I do choose to
stop and in the midst of this awareness of the brokenness of life there is also comes some sense of healing. I also see this healing in many of the people I fish with. Many of the folks I take fly fishing do seem to have some mechanism
that tells them when enough is enough. This is good. Our sacred waters in paradise
need such stewards. But of course I
know there are also those who go on and on caught up under the compulsion. And damage is done.
Today I guided a gentleman who had an internal mechanism
that was more or less working. Not perfectly, but working in some mysterious manner and it spoke to him this morning in some powerful
way. He also had good fishing skills. He was one who seemed more mesmerized by simply observing the
abundance of fish rising to the tricos than in the need to actually catch the
fish. He missed many. He “lost” many. But in
the midst of all these sipping fish and the casting and drifting of tiny flies,
and all this beauty, Mark also caught some wonderful fish as he too was caught up in this heavenly experience.
And then perhaps the beauty and “Eden-ness” of Perelandra in this good old down
to earth place called Eleven Mile
Canyon, spoke to him and said it
was enough.
And it was.
And it was good.
And we were satisfied.
Well, almost. After all, this was
only Eleven Mile
Canyon in Colorado and not Perelandra.
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