Dreaming of fish

the angler waits

largemouth lurks, watchful

northern lakes

I am reading The Patch by John McPhee. It’s a collection of his works, and the first piece is about fishing. He paints a lovely picture of the fishing patch and the dance between angler and fish. The story is really about his father and the author speaking about his fishing adventures at his father’s death bed.

Fishing is, of course, a metaphor for life: persistence, patience, fleeting, slow, and sometime fast and furious. Fishing is a solitary act, yet not a lonely one.

I grew up fishing. I would spend time on the lakes of Ontario, trolling for lake trout, or casting a lure just next to lily pads, hoping to get a bass to strike. There was something special – romantic – about being on the water, the sound of the reel, the calm of the surface and then punctuated by the excitement of the strike. I recognized it was special even as a young boy.

I’ve not fished much in the past decade or so, but as summer approaches and after reading about fishing, I am drawn to it. Or, well, I can draw about it. My overzealous approach to hobbies and passions is a bit of a problem. But like so many things, you need not have to head outdoors to go fishing. You can dream. You can take a deep breath, close your eyes, and be back on the pond, or be quietly canoeing down Copper Lake, the line humming behind the boat. You can close your eyes and imagine the bass, bluegill or trout beneath the surface, living an aquatic life. You can close your eyes and feel the gentle summer breeze, hear the buzzing of deer flies, or the distance sound of a raven.

Nature is always close by. Fish are always there, waiting.

(Note: Yes, this is a day late… sorry!)

© Christopher M Buddle 2024