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I suppose I must apologize for the spelling
but it kind of makes my point. Ask yourself,
were you happier when you did or did not know
how 'the lady was sawed in half?' Did the knowledge
of that trick improve you in some way or did it spoil
the fun of watching. As usual, I have no answers,
only questions. I suppose it is a dumb question,
as to whether knowledge is a good thing or not,
but is it always? Are there no times when perhaps
it is not?
Incredible as it may seem, I do not have a college
degree. I spent some time there but only took the
classes I wanted for the information they held and
went out into the job world. I could see little
wisdom in learning things I had no interest or
use for. Was I wrong? Most likely was. Life is
hard, even harder when you do not have a degree.
In my better fly fishing days on the Au Sable,
the famous blue ribbon trout stream in Michigan,
and the times spent photographing and learning
about the insects I had the assistance of a
degreed naturalist at my side, my companion Neil.
Without his knowledge and training on how and
where to find out even more I would never have
moved ahead as we did. I was the eternal optimist,
he was the educated one.
But, how about the times before we met, like one
day when I was casting a white fly on the tannin
hued water of the famous South Branch of that
river one full afternoon. And had no idea of what
I was doing other than some guy had given me the
fly and said it was a real good one. What did it
represent? Would knowledge have helped me or held
me back. Did it matter that it most certainly
looked like a white miller, of which there were
darn few available, and as I learned years later
that any trout that took it was probably just
snatching at a life form of some sort?
No, it would not have improved my afternoon in
any way, it could not have. I can't think of a
more glorious day a-stream. How many trout did
I catch? None I think. I waded my way upstream
from Canoe Harbor, pushing against the knee-high
flow for five wonderful hours. With each new bend,
foam trail, log end and all of the other magical
trout holding spots, I would fish even more intently.
Cast after cast. Pounding my way upstream. Pinpoint,
tight looped, driving casts well presented just above
the gently flowing surface. My fly drifting easily
to the waters. Fully intent on the next rise to my
fly and the heart pounding thrill of the hook-set.
Actually, a bit of information that day may have
been of some help after all, as I recall, that
was the day I noticed after a few hours and
several missed rises that the tip of my hook
was gone entirely. Broken off right at the barb.
Probably got it snagged on a twig or such and
popped it off. That might have helped in the
fish catching department some. Had I known the
name of the fly or the Latin name of the bug it
represented, could that have helped my experience
any? Fact is, it would not have improved it in
any way. It would have changed it a bit by actually
catching some fish, but improved it; I don't think
so. Maybe, just maybe it was the ignorance of the
broken hook that made my day, at least it made it
what it was. A wonderful day of reading the water,
making cast after cast to the likely places of
hungry fish and never having to waste time playing
the things.
I often wonder if the knowledge I have acquired
over the years is to be considered gained or not.
Was I just as happy when I knew little but the
magic of the whole of the event. Or did it
fulfill me to know of the sub-imago? I still
don't know. ~ James Castwell
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