“A Story Begun Near the Sound of Water”

Sometimes, certain lines from novels grab my attention. In “A River Runs Through It”, Norman Maclean, while watching the river writes, “It was here while waiting for my brother, that I started this story, although of course at the time I did not know that stories of life are often more like rivers than books. But I knew a story had begun perhaps long ago near the sound of water and I sensed that ahead I would meet something that would never erode”.  These lines grab at me.

Our lives are personal, sacred stories whether we want them to be or not and whether we are aware of it or not. Of course, most of the time while we are living life, we are not aware of the meaning and spirituality of our lives.  Like Norman, while we are fishing and working and dealing with family issues we are not aware that our stories are more like rivers than books. We are also often not aware of how our own individual life stories are connected to a bigger story of “long ago”.

I would also profess that our true spiritual lives are more like rivers than books.  On the surface it does not seem as though much is happening. We are just meandering around without a whole lot of spiritual insight or drama.  Norman said that a story had begun near the sound of water. Do we realize how subtle the sound of a river can be?  Yet, I believe the relatively quiet meandering of a river parallels our own lives and our spiritual lives. I don’t believe we can separate the two. This is what Norman meant in the opening line of the novel when he said that there was “ no clear line between religion and fly fishing”.

Between the time young Norman becomes aware that a sacred story had begun near the sound of water, to the close of the story where Norman is an old man, we see his  personal life story played out without much drama and also, particularly without much spiritual drama.  In regard to the movie and the book, many have criticized the lack of action or plot. This is not a great drama. Things just meander around like a river. The person who might be looking for action and excitement would be bored out of their minds with this story. Yet, is this not the way we experience our true spiritual lives ?  If we are honest, we do a lot of waiting and while we are waiting, not much seems to be happening. It is this inactivity of this story that I think we precisely need to embrace.

Even in the tragedy of Norman’s brother Paul being killed, we want those who remain perplexed in suffering to hear from God.  We want some reason or explanation to be given. But in this story it seems that this family waits in the vast silence of God. The Maclean family asks questions but do not receive answers. The Reverend Maclean struggled with the loss of his son and why he could not reach him.  He kept asking Norman, “Do you think I could have helped him”?  “Are you sure you told me everything”?  “Is there anything else”?   Norman finally had to say, “All I really knew about Paul was that he was a fine fly fisherman”.

I find this honest humility to be deeply spiritual and an indication of the true spiritual life.   The parable of the sower teaches us that it is those with a, ‘honest and pure heart’, who will grow and bear fruit. In the face of tragedy, it takes true faith and humility to not allow pious explanations to falsely soothe our vulnerability.  For what do we really know about the mysteries of God and the blessings and tragedies that come our way?  Are we all not like Job, who in the end of his ordeal put his hand over his mouth and declared, “I have spoken about that which I did not understand”.  And Norman Maclean at the end of his story and literally near the end of his own life only knows what eludes him saying, “It is those we live with and should know who elude us. But I still reached out to them.”  In the end he is still waiting for the hope that a fish might rise. In the end he is still only “haunted by waters” rather than having answers. In essence, in the end, there is much, in fact, very much, that remains unknown.  It seems that perhaps there is not the sound of God’s voice but only the sounds of the river.

In contrast, sometimes, while I am in certain evangelical Christian circles I get the impression that God is continually speaking to his people in a clear audible voice and this is the norm.  It seems that God is telling people exactly what to do all the time and constantly providing dramatic spiritual experiences of his presence.  Unfortunately there is much sensationalism in the Christian church. I personally feel out of place with such claims.  In such circles the waiting in the absence of God has been stripped away in exchange for quick ‘feel good’ remedies. The vast silence of God has become something else, perhaps more likened to listening to some audio CD on some simple 3 step process of hearing God’s voice.

So where does this leave us?  I present myself as a guide who is willing to dialogue about the mysteries of the spiritual life and the parallels of the spiritual life with fly fishing. I write this short piece and other essays as a way of stimulating interest to allow dialogue. Yet, I do so with caution and the question has to be asked:  What then is there to talk about? While I am willing to dialogue it seems I am also skeptical and suggesting that God can be profoundly and vastly silent and not understood.

Then perhaps, I can suggest we can talk about the silence of God. Or at least ponder it and wonder what it might mean. Maybe God speaks to us in his silence. We can listen to the river, ponder the ‘words’ under the rocks,  and like Norman, we can still have the “hope that a fish might rise”. 

We can still have the faith that we will “meet something that will never erode”.  Perhaps it is all in the waiting as TS. Eliot wrote,

“I said to my soul be still and wait,

Wait without hope for hope would be hope of the wrong thing,

Wait with out love for love would be love of the wrong thing,

Yet there is faith, but the faith and the hope and the love are all in the waiting.”

"I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately" Thoraeu

Fly Fishing Glimpses From a Childhood Pond

“In our family there was no clear line between religion and fly fishing” Norman Maclean

After 25 years of being a fly fishing guide and 40 years of fly fishing experience there are a few things I have grown certain of.  I am certain that there is some thing wonderfully spiritual about fly fishing. Fly fishing can be a journey that in many ways parallels our own spiritual journeys through life.

I must confess that most often while fly fishing (or guiding others) I don’t necessarily think about the journey, nor am I aware of it.  I simply feel as though I am “just” fishing.  Nor, do I talk about the spirituality of things all that much. It is always difficult to talk mysteries with any authority.   However, I have reached an age where I find it is appropriate to find words that begin to express what I have learned on the river that moves beyond mere fly fishing technique and at the same time drifts deeper than typical mainstream Christian perspectives.  Helping others to learn the wonderful art of fly fishing is one way for me to share with others the techniques I have learned over 40 years of fly fishing and at the same time to enter into dialogue in regard to the deeper spiritual aspects of life.

Sometimes, after a long day of fishing while I am driving home pondering the day, I may get a glimpse of some deeper meaning that defines the day in some way that is bigger than the fish battled, caught and lost.  Most often these glimpses are quite vague and not very dramatic; Yet, there is something undeniably true of these experiences that lurk below the surface of the currents I fish.   It would not be too much for me to say that I have spent most of my life learning to pay attention to these glimpses that lurk below the surface of not only the waters I fish but also of ordinary day to day experiences.  

My own fly fishing journey began back in New Jersey in 1970 where as a kid I found access to a private pond. It was here, mainly by my self where I taught myself to fly fish. I taught myself to cast, to tie some basic fly patterns and to ‘sight fish’. I distinctly remember walking around the pond while false casting and scanning the water for cruising fish and then when the fish was spotted I would lay the fly out in front of it and watch the fish take the fly. I was mesmerized by the whole process and in due time my skills were sharpened and refined particularly for a young boy of my age and fly fishing became a way of coping with some of the challenges I faced in my youth.  

As a boy I encountered some of the typical challenges that confront many boys trying to figure out life and what it means to be a man. It was only at the pond that I found some solace from these challenges. For me, fly fishing felt as though I was walking on a path; “my” path, a “road less traveled by and one that would make all the difference,”  to paraphrase Robert Frost.  But at the time, I could not fully understand the significance of the path I was on, what I was learning and its place in my life.  

In looking back at my pond experience and placing that experience in context with the rest of my life, I can now get a sense that there was a story evolving. Seemingly random events have taken on new meanings. Was it any accident that I ended up living in Colorado next door to great trout waters and then, by being at the right place at the right time, I became a fly fishing guide for the South Platte River? The very fly fishing skills I learned as a kid,  I now find myself teaching those I guide.  I also don’t think it was an  accident that I have also been an educator (teacher/counselor) for the last 28 years and have taken countless numbers of  school kids fly fishing for the their very first time? And I have learned that many of my young students are/were just as confused and scared as I was as a kid.  I have also shared my story and my fly fishing skills with hundreds of adults with a wide range of abilities, (beginners, intermediates and experts) and learned of their own ‘adult’ journeys and challenges.  Over the years, I have wondered what glimpses and meanings my clients may have been given from the waters they fished.  And sometimes, together, we become aware that our stories overlap. We find there are “common waters” and that is a wonderful feeling of not being alone in our experience.  It bonds us together, not only as fly fishers but  with something deeper below the surface that will never erode.

It is a well known cliché that states everything happens for a reason. But I also understand how cliché’s lose their vitality, particularly a cliché that claims that everything, even the troubles of our world, has its place. There is much that I do not understand.   I remain an ignorant man. Yet as I age, and I look back and pay attention to my own life story,  I can’t but help get one of those little glimpses I spoke of earlier.  And that glimpse simply is the feeling and the ‘knowing’ (and at the same time the hope), that there was some purpose for my childhood experiences when I created  my first flies and taught myself  to cast. There was some purpose for being alone back then and how I found my own path and learned to walk alone.  I am convinced  that  because of these past childhood experiences and countless hours of fly fishing, that  I am supposed to share my own fly fishing journey with others, both kids and adults, and help them along in their journey. It feels right for me to be on this path (as it did when I was a kid), now as a guide/teacher/counselor,  trying to share this wonderful fly fishing  treasure with others.

I look forward to helping you on your own fly fishing journey.