It seems like yesterday; I was sitting in the grass, the sun reddening my arms and neck, an old can filled with dirt and night-crawlers and a bottle of Orange Crush close by. My trusty Zebco and hand-me-down rod was perched in the fork of a tree branch that was trimmed with my dad’s Barlow especially for the purpose.
A red and white orb moving to the wind’s whispers among the reflections of drifting clouds. My concentration centered upon that object, with its invisible tether connecting it from my rod to the unseen denizens I hoped to soon hold. A painted turtle pushes its head above the water and looks with curious suspicion in my direction. As I sat hypnotized by the bobber’s gentle rocking, I wondered what might be underneath, a huge fish or empty, bubble-filled water. Would it be success or failure?
But how could I fail? I couldn’t imagine any other place that I would rather have been at that moment. Quite honestly, as I look back at that boy sitting on the lake’s bank so many years ago… what I would give to join him once more!
Then, it didn’t matter that I wasn’t pitching an Adam’s fly on Michigan’s Au Sable, grabbing the net while frantically trying to fill my limit on Lake Erie, or floating on some secluded Canadian lake. It didn’t matter that my rod had tape holding the tip on or that my tackle box was also my lunchbox during the school year. All that counted — all that really mattered — was that I was there with dad, brother, a friend or even alone. Catching a fish may well have been the goal but there always seemed to be so much more to those early outings.
Maybe it was because I was still in awe of the experience. Every soaring hawk, every scolding redwing, every swimming snake, every darting dragon fly each captured my attention as I found myself in their world and learning to make it my own. Each trip to a nearby pond or creek was truly an expedition into a new universe.
Sometimes, as we get older, we lose the wonder we once felt. Angling somehow becomes a competition with the fish and our friends and we fall prey to advertisers’ promises of bigger, better and more. Yet, locked inside is that youngster who once marveled at the rainbow hues of a sunfish — the same one who didn’t catch a fish but couldn’t wait to tell anyone with an ear about the snake he’d touched or the muskrat that swam so close.
I really liked that kid back then, maybe more than I like the man but, like you, he grew up and left Pan’s Neverland and became serious about work and life. Yet the boy is still somewhere inside, anxiously waiting for the next outing, a chance to once again be amazed at the world that thrives just outside of grownup cares. Inside each of us is something that tugs us toward the water’s edge… to look at the mesmerizing shimmer, our imagination drifting with each wave, a relaxing familiarity buried deep inside our souls.
It’s great that you get a limit, land the biggest or net the first, but don’t let that natural human competitiveness lock away that kid inside. Look around, see our wild world as it is and not as a playpen full of toys.
It’s truly a gift that we should each honor, appreciate, share and conserve for future generations. There are kids imprisoned in adult bodies all around us. Invite one of them on your next fishing adventure and you may just witness the transformation. Fishing licenses are cheap and there’s no limit or age restrictions on memories. The real catch of the day may be the memories that others will have of you.
“I suppose it’s like the ticking crocodile, isn’t it? Time is chasing after all of us.”
– J. M. Barrie, ‘Peter Pan’
