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PONDERING CORE ESSENCE
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Christmas gifts this year included new books in all my favorite subjects; baseball, science, philosophy, and of course, fishing. My loved ones know me well, and I thank them! I was quickly drawn into "The Optimist (A Case for the Fly Fishing Life)" by David Coggins , Scribner 2021. This is exactly my kind of book; thoughtful, tangentially familiar to my experiences, written in digestible chapters for consumption on my own schedule. Pretty quickly, even from scanning the Table of Contents, I suspected I would enjoy it; I recognized many of the locales and fish highlighted. But I hadn't even made it out of the Introduction before I realized I needed to pay attention. This book offered a potential gift for me, and for any other reader, if one could accept certain ideas. Here are some lines that caught me from the book's beginning sections. I'm sure there's more to be learned from the rest of the book, but I can only type so much. And, I've already reserved my right to expand this at some later date. "Beneath the (water's) surface are mysteries we can barely make out, so we study and speculate and remember every detail we can. This is fishing." (p. 2) I can't say for sure when my fascination with the mysteries of life under water started, but they'd certainly taken a strong hold of me by the time I was eight years old or so. I was fortunate in that one life-changing day in second grade, a bulldozer arrived and started digging a hole a few hundred yards away from my house. By the next spring, the muddy hole had filled with water, and there was life! Tadpoles became frogs, and occasionally I'd glimpse an unknown creature crawling along the bottom. Somewhere in this timeframe, I joined others on roaming excursions to The Duck Pond, a mile away and at the end of our road. We used worms or bread under floats and caught tiny bluegills, horned pout, and a very occasional (and very small) largemouth bass. I recall fashioning bobbers from discarded thread spools (why did we have so many of these in the house?), and even catching a bass all by myself (although I sought assistance from an older pal to get the hook out.) It probably took an additional year or two for me to realize there were fish in The Pond next door. I'm not sure I had permission to be using my Dad's equipment, but I was swimming a red and white Dardevl through the murky water when I felt the electric jolt of a strike on an artificial lure for the first time. After so many accumulated, fruitless casts, I'd not expected this, but quickly, excitedly and luckily landed the largest bass of my life; all 12 inches of it (maybe.) I was alone, and the fish was thrashing and spikey! I'd never encountered such a beast. After a period of simply gazing at my magnificent catch. I sought help from the local hay farmer (maybe I wanted to show off, too, for the first time in my angling career?), taking his lunch break nearby. He did help, but with some disgust and agitation directed my way, and somehow I realized I would have to face these situations for myself in the future. There was much to be learned! But the fear and the shame were instantly overshadowed by the excitement and the mystery. What else was in The Pond? I was hooked; happily for life, as it turned out. And it wasn't just The Pond; it was The Piggery, Abbott's Run, Lincoln Woods, The Hollow and whatever other waters my young legs could get me to. I didn't know it at the time, but I'd started down a path of wonder, armed only with curiosity and the desire to figure things out. I tried to observe, remember, and understand. I am still trying. "I began fishing as a boy... because I loved it. If anything, it felt natural." (p. 3) "When people ask me about the attraction to fishing,... I tell them it's an outdoor sport. This is obvious of course, but it's the basic truth. You're in the natural world, usually in a beautiful place." (p. 5) This was fun! For a young boy, that's enough of a reason to continue the pursuit. The rest of my life at the time was school, hockey and baseball. School was an imposition on everything else, and hardly worth thinking or worrying about. Hockey and baseball were fun, too, but even at that age I realized that somehow I couldn't control the entire game. A few too many determinative pucks and balls had already taken stray bounces, and my first season of Little League ended (painfully) with me on deck. I was helpless, unable to do anything; I didn't like it. Somehow, I saw myself as in control with my fishing. I often fished alone, I chose the waters and the presentations, and I was doing it for myself. I liked that. I also liked that my Dad encouraged me and quickly started to defer to me in matters fishing. I rigged the rods, I baited the hooks, I pioneered (for us) new places and presentations. I was growing up. Baseball and bikes and street hockey are all outside, and I was outside as much as a kid could probably safely be. All the fun things were outside, and I only stayed inside because of weather or illness. But fishing was my introduction to the outdoors, which is deeper and more meaningful than simply being outside, and I started paying attention to the conditions around me. What's more natural than that? Embracing something fun that enabled my true presence/awareness in the outdoors; and learning to insert myself into the setting at hand. My approaches became quieter and more informed; I noticed and experienced more life around me. My family started camping, we got a canoe and then a boat; all, I think, very much to nurture this part of me. I yearned for more, devoured any "learning" I could find, picked my college in large part based on geographic location and physical setting, and became an aquatic ecologist. All while fishing local waters as much as possible. Sometimes these settings were beautiful, but they were more likely to be humble. We might notice and have an opinion; but the resident fish don't. They are equally wild, regardless; as wild, in fact, as anything depicted in a documentary on the Serengeti Plains or Okavango Delta. My local stripers are as every bit engaged in their struggle to survive and reproduce in their short, difficult lives as wolves ranging the Arctic. The bass in The Pond were, too, and my familiarity with them introduced me to a more expansive world view, one that at the very least included awareness of the fleeting, precious nature of life and the workings of a healthy ecosystem. And not in national parks or other continents, but in everybody's neighborhood, too. "Fishing requires skill and experience, but it also requires an act of faith. By definition we control only part of the equation. The fish has to complete the loop. That means living with the knowledge that success, as it's traditionally defined, requires something out of your control. That's why an angler must, at some level, be an optimist." (p.11) "The Optimist makes the case for ideals beyond angling, for a set of skills that are practiced, improved upon, and measured over time. Taken together they lead to a stronger connection to the natural world and to the enduring belief that something good might happen on the next cast and if not then certainly the one after that." (p. 12) Ah, the accumulation of skills. This might be where most of our attention and effort is spent; we know we need good casting, boat control, knot-tying, equipment maintenance, and boat launching skills. We keep buying new lures, rods and reels. And beyond; we also need to know about our targeted quarry and how they live, how the water we've chosen provides an array of options for the quarry and how this all interacts in determining and executing a presentation that has a chance of fooling the fish of our choice at the given moment, under the given conditions. There's a lifetime of exploration to discuss here, but for the purposes of this essay, I am going to say, "Enough said." Let's move on to the question of faith. Because even with perfect knowledge, conditions, equipment, and execution, there's still a chance that the fish will choose to not participate. And I'd thought I had control; I couldn't have been more wrong. The fish have to play, too. They often don't, but one has to sustain belief that the fish might engage with our efforts. Moreover, the odds of a bite only decrease as our realization of "perfection" erodes. Perfection is after all, unattainable, and whatever I am actually equipped with is a poor subset of a possible substitution for the ideal. I am fooling myself when I think I have everything under control. I also know the psychiatric dangers of being content with nothing short of perfection. So, I do believe that I can fool a fish into eating. If not on this one cast, then probably the next. If not this lure, then another. And if not on this trip, then certainly the one following. If I don't experience something I desire this year, then in 2025 or 2026. Or 2045. It'll happen. And if I can believe that, then I can certainly believe that there are co-benefits and other good things will happen along the way. Some of these will be fishing-related, but I expect most of them will affect other parts of a full life. Good scenery, good food, shared laughter and funny incidents are almost assured; other items of goodness that I cannot even imagine, likely. I'd best be aware and wise enough to recognize these along the way. I'll tip my hat to "fishing" when I encounter these events, but that feels like thanking your vehicle's transmission for delivering you safely to a destination. It's important, yes, but not the whole story. And so is fishing, to me. Important, even highly important. But just part of my story, an enabling part of my whole being, and I am simply thankful for what it has provided, and continues to provide to my well-being. And, I suspect, the well-being of those immediately around me, and a positive influence on what I am leaving in my wake. "One man represented reason, the other emotion." (p. 16) "(C) brought clarity to a mysterious process. The only other option was chaos, which was close at hand but unacceptable. We would observe our surroundings, recognize what we knew to be true, and in the end, we should triumph. If we did not carry the day, then it was because the universe had conspired to undermine us. We had done all we could and, as a result, could bear no blame." (p. 17) "Nearly every meaningful thing I've ever learned was only clear in retrospect." (p. 30) These statements are describing the author's primary mentors, what they brought to his understanding and growth in the sport of fly fishing, and a truism that certainly rings true for me. I'm a bit jealous of their collective experience; I am not sure I am mentorable. I certainly learned from my Dad. It would be easy to say that I quickly and most easily learned what NOT to do from him, at least when it came to fishing. What I did learn, all too late, is that relaxing and enjoying oneself is as valid a pursuit as actually catching fish; and that he really did invest himself in supporting my growth. As a teenager, I thought I was riding the coattails of his boat ownership and fishing trips; now I realize that he was along for the ride while he gave me the opportunity to figure things out. Thanks, Dad. I've had various fishing partners and buddies along the way, and I hope we learned from each other. In fact, I know we did, but what we learned and shared was largely technical, procedural, and logistical. I thank each and every one of them, and I look forward to future trips as a few of these relationships rekindle. I'd have embraced C as a mentor, because his scientific approach to solving the problem at hand resonates with me. That's my basic approach, and what's all this learning, observing and remembering for if not to impose order and sense; and then to apply this knowledge towards a desired resolution. Pay attention, think, apply the right tool in the right manner, and viola - success! So much of what I've learned, whether from others or by myself, has come from this approach. It's so natural to me! But I also recognize (now) that with limited time, resources and imperfect understanding, this will only get one so far. There's room for fantasy and quixotic thought in fishing, too. Sometimes these fanciful approaches will succeed and fish will be caught. My scientific self can still observe, learn and remember, even if I do not understand. And perhaps I might even enjoy and choose a method that is not the most successful at a given time; I've finally learned that's an okay use of my time, too. Perhaps it has taken too long for me to realize these things. Perhaps I've missed out on lost opportunities for other types of success. But I am glad that I can choose to embrace these findings as equally legitimate, and I still have time in front of me. Maybe even enough time to experience, recognize, and share currently unimagined, but wonderful outcomes in fishing, in the natural world order, in life. The least I can expect of myself (and others around me) for 2024 is that I remember these lessons and live them to the maximum extant I am able. I shall do my best! Pondering the questions of core essence and finding meaning in unexpected ways
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Steve LachanceVia Rhode Island, New Hampshire, Michigan and now, back to New England! Archives
June 2024
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