Sunday, August 7, 2011

Testament of a Fisherman: Robert Traver

I fish because I love to; because I love the environs where trout are found, which are invariably beautiful and I hate the environs where crowds of people are found, which are invariably ugly; because of all the television commercials, cocktail parties, and assorted social posturing I thus escape; because, in a world where most men seem to spend their lives doing things they hate, my fishing is at once an endless source of delight and an act of small rebellion; because trout do not lie or cheat and cannot be bought or bribed or impressed by power, but respond only to quietude and humility and endless patience; because I suspect that men are going along this way for the last time, and I for one don't want to waste the trip; because only in the woods can I find solitude without loneliness; because bourbon out of an old tin cup always tastes better out there; because maybe one day I will catch a mermaid; and, finally, not because I regard fishing as being so terribly important but because I suspect that so many of the other concerns of men are equally unimportant - and not nearly so much fun...Robert Traver, Trout Magic

For as long as I can recall little cricks such as the one above and the wild trout that live there have provided us countless hours of fun, solitude and, perhaps most important, our way to escape the  madness everyday life in the 21st century demands. Lately though even in the woods it seems finding anything like solitude is fast disappearing. For instance yesterday as we rigged up to fish vehicle after vehicle--trucks, cars, dirt bikes, you name it--sped past (most by the way in a cloud of dust, as if the race was on to see who could get to wherever first), this on a forest road where until a year or so ago we seldom saw anyone, except for maybe a holiday weekend and of course once big game season kicked in.

Today at least we had the crick to ourselves for a couple hours anyway then...As we fished our way back  Gale spotted a riser and began carefully stalking into casting range we heard the unmistakable growl of a diesel pickup slow to stop, backup and...you guessed it... park.

Gale said, "Did that truck just park next to ours?"

"Sounds like it..." 

Whoee baby, with miles of empty crick to fish, these four a_____s apparently thought we needed/wanted company...And well with that I guess better end the rant, don't want to risk a total meltdown ya know...

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