With Whom Do We Fish?

With whom do I fish and why?

Sometimes I ask myself this question and try to answer?  I think when I fish, I am often seeking connection to more than the fish I cast upon. Among other things, I seek connection with a fellow angler.

Of course sometimes it nothing more than wanting to share the river, its fish, and the whole experience with another soul.  To share a beautiful place with another person allows me to not feel so isolated. Therefore, I seek someone to whom I can fish and enjoy an outing together.

It can also just be fun to tease someone for not being able to catch a fish. Or sometimes it is I who cannot hook up, like an awkward teenager casting to the girls at school and there is nothing but rejection.  Together, with others,  it is easier to laugh at being rejected. And as many of us know who fish the South Platte, rejection comes often. So we learn to laugh at one another and ourselves.

Yet, sometimes it is “Something” more.  For me, it can be about sharing with another the struggle of life. What struggle someone might ask? What are you talking about?

Well, that is a difficult question to answer. I think many of us, “just know” what I am talking about whether we admit it or not.  However, I don’t believe I am talking about the glorious, joyful, blessed life of being a Christian and fishing in God’s creation as some profess. No, this is Something deeper and darker like the deep pool we fish but never see the bottom and we can never seem to entice the large, melancholy fish laying on the bottom.

My friends and many people I meet on the river are surprised to hear me speak of melancholy and a struggle in life. “Struggle” they say; “Do you know you have it made? Do you know how lucky you are?  Do you know you are living the dream?”  

“Yes” I reply.   “I know, but I still struggle.”

We make another thousand casts.

And sometimes, with a peculiar joy in our hearts, we connect, and the melancholy fish rises to meet us.

It is with such people who know Something of both melancholy and joy who I enjoy fishing with the most and connect at the deepest level of struggle, even trying to catch the large rainbow on the bottom of a deep pool and trying to believe. 

A Big Amy's Ant Rainbow

I caught a big rainbow on an Amy’s Ant dry fly.

My wife’s name is Amy and I am Anthony, but people back in Jersey would call me “Ant” so when we put those two names together we get an “Amy’s Ant.”  

Sometimes ‘Amy’s Ant’, that is Anthony, (using the Amy’s Ant) catches a big fish. 

When  I report to my wife that I caught a big fish on an “Amy’s Ant” she tries to take some credit for the fish.  She thinks it is her fly by name (which it is not) or that I am her Ant, which I guess, is somewhat true.

But what a catch (I mean Amy!), even if she knows nothing about fly fishing. 

A Fine Morning Fly Fishing at Deckers

I guided at Deckers yesterday with good friend and fellow guide Steve Gossage.  The clients were easy going and respectful individuals. They caught fish and Steve and I were please with how the morning unfolded. We even felt like respectable guides; we did our job. I complimented Steve, and he complimented me.

Yet, like any number of other guide trips there was something else beneath the waters we fished that forever lurks.  If I told you only about each beautiful fish we caught, the flies and techniques we used, we might just pass over this something else.  I usually refer to this “Something else” as a “God-thing” or a presence of sorts that we might perceive in nature. I guess you can call it whatever you want but I think it is important that we pay attention to it.

Lately, for me, I relate this awareness of Something else to the struggle of life. This is the struggle to maintain faith; to believe in Something bigger than oneself.  It is not about success. It is not about numbers or size of fish. There will never be enough fish or a fish big enough.  Knowing this truth is part of our faith journey and keeps us in the struggle of faith rather than above it. The fish we hooked struggled to remain low in their watery world, as we skillfully struggled, to bring the fish into our world. This is rather strange and symbolic of some bigger struggle and ultimate desire.  

Yesterday the crowds arrived on the river. This too is part of the struggle. There are many good anglers and guides on the river these days. It is easy to compare ourselves with one another, and on certain days to even try to place myself on “top”, but such comparisons are useless.

I am trying rather to remain low below the surface, in the struggle of life. I would rather remain in the Something else, even if that places me on the bottom, where the fish repeatedly engulfed our nymphs.

My Little Story Merging With A Bigger Story: Bringing Back Eden

It was strange how when I was writing my personal story of becoming a fly fisher, I perceived a "Bigger" story trying to merge/emerge with my story. This is a rather bold claim, but I could not deny that the bigger story was at least periodically raising its head, like a sipping trout revealing itself to me.

When I re-told the story of being a boy learning to fly fish a pond I could not but help feel "Something" reminding me of the bigger story of a people wandering in the wilderness looking for the promised land. Is this the story of stories that forms the fabric and foundation of all our personal stories? Was I called to that little valley in New Jersey to learn of a new life?  Was I invited there to experience something of Eden? These are some of the questions I tried to address in "Bringing Back Eden." 

Such connections to a bigger story ground me and allow me to hope. However if we are going to look at more of the big story, then we are going to have to consider, that at least for some of our life, we will wander and feel lost. The big story in the Biblical narrative states quite clearly that we are in exile, wandering like aliens in a foreign land, awaiting a new kingdom. 

Do we feel this alienation?