What Knocks?

D.H. Lawrence in a poem titled, “The Song Of a Man Who has Come Through,“ beautifully describes the individual who contemplates what knocks on the door in the night. And because he allows what knocks to enter his life, he breaks through to a new place.

The darkness of December inspires me to also consider what might be knocking on my door. What new mission, thoughts and perspectives might I embrace? What new places might I need to explore and fish? What new people might I need to allow in my life?

In the case of this poem, the narrator at first seems to question if the one doing the knocking is here to cause harm. But then, concludes that it is three strange angels.  He decides to open the door, to admit the angels who knock; “Admit them, admit them.”

However, most often in my life, out of fear, I play it safe. I seal myself off from what knocks and even those individuals who may wish me well.  Of course, there is often a fine line between what wants to help us and who perhaps wants to do harm.

Often if a significant change is going to come to me it can be fearful.  I consider the times in the Bible when God or angel addressed different people and said, ”Do not be afraid.”  Being called by an angel can be frightening.

Around 40 years ago while sleeping in a hotel room in Corvallis, Oregon a knocking came to the door.  It was my father who had flown 6 hours across the country to watch me wrestle in the NCAA wrestling championships.  I had no idea he was coming. I felt afraid.  I felt stressed that he came all the way out only to watch me lose (or at least that was how I felt about it.)  What was strange was that I didn’t even want to be there!  I wanted to quietly, and without a fight slip away.  Of course that was not what was on my father’s mind; he was hoping to see his son compete, maybe even win a few matches, and perhaps, although a long shot, earn a top 8 in the country All American Status.

I would stay in Oregon for 5 days. No other team mates were with me. This was all a strange experience as if time slowed down. I could not rationally understand what was happening.   I had to warm up and drill moves by myself.  I had a lot of alone time. And there was strange weather; rain and hail and I ran in some of those storms as I watched the lightning in the far hills.

In the evening I would walk down the highway to a Baskin and Robbins Ice cream shop and sit inside by myself looking out the window. I loved to reflect, think, and I guess, pray. I had written out some Bible verses on little cards and would read them.  I could not deny that there was a feeling that Something was going to happen but it made no rational sense.   

I do remember realizing that in this competition I really had nothing to lose. I felt as though I was caught in the middle of this event, lost; a nobody, but perhaps I had Something to accomplish.

 I opened a door but I am not certain how.  

Did I admit them? Did I speak with those angels?

I believe in a clumsy manner I did say yes.  And with that decision, perhaps an angel helped me and changed life events.

What was so strange was that if I were in charge of arranging miracles for the purpose of giving certain individuals hope, I would have done it differently. I would rather execute some grand flashy move that wooed the crowds.  But that never happened.  All that seemingly happened was that I was awarded a key penalty point at a key moment, in each match, which gave me the lead. Nothing more, nothing less.  Very subtle; Nothing dramatic.  It would not be too much to say, the points came out of thin air and most folks watching did not even know what happened or what the call was.  And so, I won 2 big matches, on one-point penalties, and became the first All American for Rutgers in over 20 years. 

Deep down I knew something mysterious had happened and the fact that I was the only one who knew, made the events all the more profound.  In thinking back on these events, I recall that when Jesus did something miraculous, he would sometimes say to those involved, “Tell no one”. If I had to take a guess as to why, maybe it was because once we start trying to explain Something miraculous, we become not only increasingly ignorant, but arrogant and inflated. So, It is better to tell no one.

This is why those fish that seemingly find themselves on the end of my line are the most meaningful to me.  I know Something else is at work and I should probably tell no one.

 

Another Chance for the Deeps Snows of Winter:

I am posting this again hoping it will really snow.

The Mountains need snow.  We need the water, and of course, so do the fish.

However, besides these basic needs, I think we also need the snow to block our way to the river.  The banks need healing along with the fish. We have left our scars upon the land and the fish themselves. 

Can I help it that I secretly wish for storms so heavy with snow that they deny us access to the river? Perhaps heavy snow is the only way to keep us out. Let the river, the fish and the land heal.  

Am I being too dramatic? Who has not seen in years past when sections of river were temporarily closed to fishing because of high water or threat of fire, how wonderful the fishing was when it reopened? With no closures in sight, I can only hope for heavy snow. I hope the snow falls and denies us access for a day or two. Or, maybe a week.  Any break might help heal the scars.

Who has not seen the scars on the fish; the broken off flies in their mouths, and their tired response when hooked? Have we not seen every day and all day long the relentless pounding of our favorite holes? 

How many times can a fish be hooked, its feeding cycles interrupted, and still thrive (or even survive?).

I doubt the D.O.W., park service or the national forest agencies would ever propose rest periods for the fish by periodically closing sections of river. I doubt fly shops could collaborate and agree to limit guiding or fishing on our most popular sections of river.  Could the fly fishing community ever agree to fish less?

How could I, as a lover of fly-fishing, during a 60 degree winter day, deny myself the urge to fish? Or, how could I not cast to a 30 inch fish that has moved up from a lake during the fall and Spring migrations?  

Therefore, come heavy snow and cover the river, the trails, and the roads. Deny me access if only for a day. If no one else is going to stop me perhaps nature will try with a hefty snow storm.

Heal the damage I have done.  Heal the damage that we have all down. Heal Eden.

Heal my own heart. 

 

Once Again Waiting on the Snow

Once again, waiting on the snow and for the fish to return. A new year. Not much yet but I can wait. I know how to wait. 

Actually, we got some snow a few nights ago but we still need more.  We need snows and rains  to soak the earth, to fill the lakes and rivers. 

I also made an inquiry at the local fly shop. Always helpful. Some fish are appearing in the runs and feeding. I can usually fill in the rest that the fish are taking eggs and midges. Maybe a black leach. 

The plan is to fish tomorrow with two friends. Sometimes going fishing feels like a commitment to people in my life, to keep in touch and at other times a commitment to get out in nature and perhaps prove to myself I can still find a fish.  

Fishing can also be about keeping my commitment to walk a solitary path through the forest and that reminds me of how I started fishing back in New Jersey 50 years ago.

 

The River is Crowded:

 I have been guiding on the South Platte River since the 80's.  Anybody notice how crazy crowded the river is ALL year?  What can we do ? 

Changing My Life:

The great German speaking poet, Rainer Maria Rilke concluded one of his poems with the statement, “I need to change my life.”  The line seems to come out of nowhere.  It is a powerful conclusion and a proclamation stating a frustration with life that emanates from the poets own inner being.   And it also strikes a chord deep inside my soul.

I wonder if this sense of wanting my life to change in some deep manner is simply a part of the existential human condition.  Is it normal to struggle with angst, meaninglessness and the feeling that life remains unfulfilled?  It seems to me that no matter what I obtain and no matter how much success I achieve there is still something elusive that remains just out of casting range of the rivers I fish.  There is always the fish that gets away.

My fly fishing world of river, rock and sky, provides a wonderful place for me to wrestle with these questions and the existential struggles of life. My guess is that there are many people out there who at least feel some of the frustration and want their life to change. However, I think many remain silent. After all aren’t we supposed to be happy and fulfilled?  But suppose if we are not?

I prefer not to pretend and just go along and smile.  I, like the poet, want to make that proclamation, “I need to change my life.”    I want to change my life and take steps to make that happen. 

Forget therapy. Forget the pills. I don’t need a drink. Forget all the electronic connections we make via our social media world. And I don’t need to go to “church”.

Sometimes, I just need to stand on the banks of a river and cast, even knowing that some fish will always elude me.