I spent the day making final preparations for work on the truck. Packed my bags for Alaska, and blogged up a storm.
The place where the camper lies is in a town called Pacifica, I think I mentioned that already somewhere. I also told you about the pier that goes way out into to ocean. On this pier you do not need a fishing license, and during daylight hours the entire quarter mile length of it is covered with rods spaced five feet apart on both sides and it is loaded with fishermen. I’ve walked its length probably 20 times now and I’ve yet to see a single fish caught. You would think the intensity and duration at which these people fish, they’d actually be catching something, but they are not and it blows my mind that they return day after day. To say they are dedicated would be an understatement. I always think that the next time I walk out there the fish will be exploding…….maybe they think the same.
The word fishing had so many definitions. What fishing means to one person is by no means what it could mean to another. To some, fishing means spending $1600 a day for a charter and chasing marlin and sailfish of the high seas. To some one else it might mean floating a river in Alaska for a week in a raft hunting for salmon. I could mean casting a long rod in the oceans foamy surf. It could mean fishing from a pier or from a sparkling forty thousand dollar bass boat. It could mean drilling a hole in the ice and sharing a warm fire. It could even mean winding some line wound around a beer can heaving the baited hook toward the water. Some fisherman barely fish at all. They prefer to tie flies, build rods, or sell bait. Fishing knows no economic or sociological boundries and is enjoyed by people of all ages, races, backgrounds.
Some fish for sport and let everything they catch go, others fish for dinner and keep everything they catch. What one person is interested in, another may have none. I always get a laugh when someone tells me they caught a giant cod fish twenty miles off the New England coast and they want to share their story with me because, well, I’m a fisherman. The reality is I have no interest in their story but love to share their enthusiasm. Sitting on a rocking boat all day is not my idea of fun….but loads of people love it, and that’s great.
If I had to define fishing for myself I would say that catching a native brook trout on a dry fly with a bamboo rod is the ultimate. And If I have a chance to share it with someone else, all the better.
I like fly-fishing the salt waters and trout streams of New England and the west. I love the Everglades and the natural wonders it provides. I have very little interest in freshwater bass fishing, quite frankly, and no offence, but I think it’s too easy and the biggest fish I can hope for is a six pounder living here in New England. What I love is the friendly camaraderie and hilarity of taking people out in the boat to catch their first really large largemouth. ….few things are better than that.
Fishing with a fly rod is beautiful, and the fish that you catch live in places that have clean, clear water. Fly-fishing takes you to spectacular far away places like Yellowstone or the Kenai River in Alaska. It takes you to beautiful places near home as well, like the Deerfield River in Western Mass or the White Mountains of New Hampshire when the leaves are turning color. The equipment used for fly-fishing is simple. The reel just holds the line and the rod bends and the line shoots out. With a pair of waders and a fly rod one can have a great day of fishing, and when your done, you put your rod back in it tube, toss it in the back seat and head for home…….it’s simplicity is so alluring to me.
They guy with the yacht and the guy with the line wrapped beer can are the same, they both have hope….Fishing provides perpetual opportunities for hope. Maybe that’s what we all have in common.
So let’s go fishing…….
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