|
I was looking back over my life the other day. Older
people seem to do that for some reason. And I was
thinking about how far I have come as a fisherman. I
was thinking that it seems far although I know that
it wasn't. I really never thought about anything
seriously until I got older. Oh, I thought at the
time I was thinking about things serious enough but
I realize now that I wasn't. It is only at the end
of Autumn that you appreciate the Summer. And I think
that it is only when you can't do any better that you
realize that you could have done better.
So why all this melancholy? There is really no need for
it. I was never the best caster. I never was the best
reader of waters. I never caught the most fish. I never
caught the biggest fish. I never fished all the exotic
places with names you couldn't pronounce. I never fished
in countries where they didn't speak your language. I
never invented some new killer fly that would catch
anything, anytime, and it was named after me. But does
any of that really matter? Does it pain me in my heart
that these things were always just past my finger tips?
Not really. For fly fishing has given me so much. And I
think that is true for all us "okay" fishermen. It has
given me friends of kindred spirit. It has given me an
appreciation of wild things in wild water. It has given
me moments that are etched into my memory like images in
glass. It has given me tales to tell around countless
campfires. It has given me memories to relive in that
little place between asleep and awake. It has given me
knowledge to pass on to younger fishermen. It has given
me so very much. So "okay" is okay with me.
Now you are always reading about this place or that where
the country is unspoiled and the fish run huge and rise
to almost anything presented in almost any way. And the
weather is always perfect and the scenery is always
breathtaking. And the only people around are you and your
partner and the best fishing guide in the world who can
sing, dance, clean fish, cook, show you where to fish,
and tell stories – all at the same time. And there are
no bugs. And after a hard day of fishing and an excellent
streamside meal, the northern lights dance to tunes played
by elk. And then you crawl into a nice warm sleeping bag
and let the night close about you. And as sleep seeps into
your mind, your last thought of the day is, "Boy, that was
an okay day!" Right!
That has never happened to me. If it did, I think I would
want to end this part of my journey right then and get on
with the next. But I have many "okay" days that have come
close. And many "less okay" days that are still good. Seems
like we remember only the good parts of these experiences
and learn to find humor in any of the not so good parts that
filter through. And at the end of the day, if "okay" was all
we had, it's really not so bad.
There are many of us who either have had or know of someone
who has had a near death experience. Maybe you were a soldier
and were nearly killed, or maybe you had a heart attack and
survived. All of these experiences are horrible and I would
not wish them on anyone. But it is this type of happening
that steels me in the opinion that "okay" is really a lot
better than okay.
I have a daughter who is a brain cancer survivor. She has
been through two surgeries, chemo, and radiation. I was
retired by the time she had her second surgery and needed
to have someone drive her every day out to U of M for her
radiation treatments. Her husband's parents watched her
daughter and I was able to spend the time to escort her.
It was one of the hardest things I ever had to do and yet
it was one of the memories I most cherish. You may ask,
"Why in God's name would you ever cherish such a memory?"
I'll tell you. It is because I witnessed what a true hero
does in the face of mortal danger. Every day, I would drive
her out to Ann Arbor and we would wait in the waiting room
for her turn with many other people in a similar peril. When
her time would come, she would bounce out of her chair and
prance down the hall like she was going to a birthday party.
In spite of the pain and danger that she faced every day, she
was brave and cheerful and never let anyone see the fear that
must have been inside her. We got to know everyone in that
waiting room fairly well and she lifted spirits and gave hope
to them all. There is no way on God's green earth that I could
have ever come close to her heroism. And through all that she
would never admit to being any thing less than "okay."
But this wasn't my last vision of mortality. My wife and I
were on our way to the Birmingham Art Fair on September 11,
2002. The fact that this had already been a day marked forever
with horror never even entered our minds. We were going down
Adams Road about 45 miles an hour when, just 4 miles from our
destination, an SUV careened across the center line and hit
us head on at nearly 50 miles an hour. There are no words
that can express the feelings you experience and the utter
terror of the impact and the aftermath. There are images that
are burned into my memory like blurry still shots and to this
day, I can see the vehicle and the drivers face as he slammed
into us. All my memories of the next few hours are just that,
still images of fear.
Turns out the driver was stone drunk at 11:00AM on a Saturday
morning. It was his fourth offense and he was driving without
a license. He was a young, college educated man with his whole
future in front of him. He became a felon in a heartbeat and
very nearly a murderer. All because of an addiction that he
could not control. I pray that he gets the help he needs to
cure himself and that he does not harm anyone else.
My wife suffered a broken arm, a broken leg, two broken ribs,
and a bruised lung even though we had our belts on and the bags
deployed. She is a strong woman. Within three weeks she was back
to work with a walker and a walking cast. She teaches high school
drop-outs and her dedication is something to behold. Like my
daughter, she also is a hero.
My injuries were related to closed head trauma resulting
in memory loss and a neck injury that required spinal
fusion and some new parts and pieces and screws. But I am
okay. It took a while but I was able to regain both the full
use of my hands and my memory. I can't fly cast very well
but then, I wasn't ever that great as I have mentioned
previously. And I had the example of two heroes to follow
in getting well. My effort in getting better did not compare
to their effort, but I did okay.
So, from my perspective, I am doing okay. And on a pretty
summer day, when the wind is right, and the water is right,
and a fish rises, and I lay out a fine cast to him, and he
takes the fly, and I play him just so to my hand and release
him, then all is okay. And even though this may be the
exception, rather than the rule, that is okay too. I am
happy with "okay." ~ Bob Bolton, Michigan
|
