It was cold in South Park on the Dream Stream looking for
big fish. Felt cold with each step as we walked along the fence down to the
river. Or maybe it was not all that cold; But rather we were not that tough
anymore.
We started talking about our younger days. Jim at 79 recalled a picture of his youth. He
told me how surprised he was at how muscular he appeared as though he did not
recognize himself. He said, “I never knew how strong I was back then.”
We walk on. My old knee injury aching as I ponder.
I (about to turn 57) shared
with Jim how when I look back over the past decades, sometimes I am not quite
able to recognize myself. I feel
confused as to who I was at various stages of my life but not just physically;
It was more. How I thought, what I
believed, how I related to others and how I acted.
Who was that back then? Who
was that younger man walking the Dream Stream with stronger strides and
confident hope (and sometimes arrogance) of catching fish.
The wind picks up from the north and chills our fingertips
even while wearing big ski mittens. The
cold wind bites through us and intimidates.
I am not feeling very confident of enduring the cold, let alone trying
to make a good cast to a large finicky trout.
Over the wind, Jim paraphrases a quote by Rohr, “You need to
remember who you were before you became you.” Before I became me? What was he talking about? Jim and I have a way of talking about such
deep things when we fish.
Who was I before I became me? Maybe I need to think of the young man I was
in innocence before life and the world hardened me and wore me down. Who was I
before I put on various masks, that have now grown old and brittle and fallen
off.
We step into the chilly river with ice along the edges. We
make some casts and drifts as I daydream back to my youth and a pond where I
taught myself to fly fish.
As a child, I remember in solitude walking the pond and
casting to large fish forever hopeful that a fish would take my fly. Forever hopeful; in spite of being ignored
for hours without a turn of a fish. I can almost remember the intensity of that
hope as I watched the beautiful forms moving below the surface. The intense
longings for not only the fish, but for love, meaning, and connection. An intensity that told me I was alive.
A longing of such intensity that I now wonder, if such hope,
like a prayer, can turn not only a fish, but also, even the heart of God.
Reflecting on the past, amidst cold northern winds, and in the company of good friends, is a ritual shared each year between myself and fishing friends from northern Michigan. Each year we gather at the cabin on the Big Manistee river, casting against, and sometimes with the wind, seeking salmon and steelhead. We too look at old pictures of days gone by, amazed at the change occurring in ourselves as a result of many trips around the sun. I try to recall all the visits earlier, and note the differences in ourselves, between then and now. I cling to the roots of my much earlier days, as a younger man, and attempt to remember who I was then, before I evolved to who I am now. I gaze in wonderment as the sun sets at the end of the day, knowing that the morning rise will bring new opportunities. And I relish in the knowledge that we have used the time together, my friends and I, to enjoy the gift that nature bestowed upon every diligent fly fisher, but more than anything, that we have enjoyed the years together, and we have done so since we were neighbor kids who would gather our rods, reels and such, and head to the local river banks in our home town, to pursue our fish, and to pursue ourselves.
ReplyDeleteScott, Thanks for sharing your story and some of your past. Yes, what a great place we have in nature, fly fishing various waters, to contemplate our lives and the inner changes that have taken place. It is interesting to think how those "little" choices we made at various points in our lives, even a choice to fish, (and even NOW!) amounts to significant changes in who we have become as individuals. I am thankful for friends like you who continue to say "yes" to life, to moving forward on the path, experiencing what life has to offer. Lets try to keep casting our flies, on to the wind, hoping that in the next meander, a large fish might take the fly.
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