I can still remember some of my earliest fishing trips.
They were part of those grand family vacations of the
1960's wild west, with a Dodge station wagon loaded
inside and out with kids, dogs, adults and gear. The
destination always involved fishing with my family so
I was exposed to it before I could participate. Often
we fished small streams but I can remember a few rivers
that seemed as wide and wild as an ocean. I remember
wading out into these rivers with my father, not even
fishing just manning the net for him.
I stood no chance in these massive currents but I watched
my father wade into them with complete awe at his power
and confidence. He would take me out into the water
quaking with fear but always believing I was safe
with him and unwilling to be left out of the fishing.
He would grab the collar of my shirt and I would walk
in his wake out into the churning waters. There in
his lee I would have a safe harbor, his strength and
devotion breaking the current for me. Sometimes we'd
wade too deep and I wouldn't be able to keep contact
with the river bottom and begin to drift away. I don't
remember being afraid I just remember that he always
caught a hold of me before I was swept away and I
remember always knowing he would.
The combination of believing in my father's abilities
and not fully understanding the danger, made wading in
waters beyond my abilities a form of recreation in and
of itself.
To this day I am primarily a river fisherman, enjoying
climbing around the boulders and cliffs and wading into
the powerful currents of my home waters. I fish some
lakes and the salt but they don't hold my attention
like the cold rushing waters of the mountains and
deserts.
My fishing buddies know me as a maniacal wader making
jokes about me leading them to an early grave. All too
often I will find a spot to cross a river with my eye
on some enticing water on the other side; then upon
reaching the far bank I turn to see a look of disbelief
on my companion's face. This look also seems to say,
"are ya nutz, I'm not wading into that!" It's not like
I never fall or get swept away but that's just always
been a part of fishing for me. There are almost always
extra clothes in the truck and in the summer months
it's quite refreshing. Dad showed me early on that if
walking a 1/2 mile got you to less pressured water then
crossing to the other side could do the same in much
less time. Most people are secure within limited
boundaries but if you can expand your boundaries the
possibilities, adventures and rewards will exponentially
increase.
These days family vacations involve loading the SUV with
fewer people and lighter gear but the destinations still
always involve fishing. My daughter is much more cautious
than I was, she's more like her mother that way, but she
trusts me the same way I trust my father and will wade
out into the river somehow overcoming her primal fear
of the current. It's very easy for me to break the
current for her, I only wish I could stand between her
and all the dangerous forces in the world. I know I
can't protect her from everything and it probably
wouldn't serve her well if I could; but I do know
that taking her out into the middle of the chaos
breaking the worst of it with my body allows her
to see beyond the danger to the possible joys and
personal challenges available. Then when she needs
to stand-alone in the river she will know that it
can be done and that hope always outweighs fear.
My father has taught me so many things this way,
standing just upstream so I could be in places I
could not find alone. Now that I am a father I
understand more of the difficulties he faces. When
to break the current, and when to step back and let
the full force push at my stance? When to believe
my cries of fear and inability and when to push me
on to discover their illusion? No one makes the right
choice every time and dunkings are just a part of the
process, but you can always change your clothes or lie
in the sun and start over again. Thanks Dad for helping
me out into the river where life is so full. Happy Birthday.
~ PD
|
