It's Not the Fish I'm After

Across the Fence #299

“Many men go fishing all of their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after.” That quote by Henry David Thoreau says it all to me when it comes to fishing. If you’ve ever been fishing or hunting, you know there’s a lot of truth in that statement.

Last night I headed for the trout streams of Timber Coulee to fish for a couple hours before it got dark. It’s my favorite time to be roaming along a creek in search of an elusive trout. Vernon County, Wisconsin has an abundance of great trout streams, and people come from all over the country to try their luck and skill while wading through the many creeks. If you haven’t spent some time exploring the wild areas around the Driftless Area, you’re missing out on one of the simple pleasures of life.

I guess that’s why I enjoy fishing. It gives me a chance to wander around and explore some beautiful scenery, up close and personal. And like Thoreau, I usually go alone. I like the quiet solitude and the sights and sounds that nature provides for those willing to venture into the wild areas. As Thoreau said, it’s not the fish we’re after. Last night I didn’t land any fish, but I watched a large turtle exploring a creek bottom, saw a crane glide gracefully through the evening air, and spotted a bald eagle perched in a nearby tree. I watched swallows as they swooped and glided over the water, like dive bombers going in for the kill. I hoped they were feasting on a few of the mosquitoes that were plentiful around the water as dusk settled in.

The only sounds were those that nature created. I listened to the soothing sound of water rippling over the rocks, crickets beginning their evening symphony in the fields and woods around me, and frogs chiming in with their own music of the night. I felt like it was a successful trip even though I didn’t catch any fish.

I like the solitude of fishing. It gives a person time to be alone with your thoughts. It’s a form of moving meditation, as I quietly walk from one fishing hole to the next, often covering several miles in the process. Everyone should have a time where you can get away by yourself to a quiet place each day, with no distractions around you. What better place could that be than a secluded trout stream, surrounded by trees and nature. “Pretending” to fish is merely the means to an end.

If you’re not able to get away to a secluded stream, find a quiet place to sit, and imagine a peaceful, secluded place in your mind.

One evening as I was working my way along a meandering stream, back to my car, darkness was settling in, and a full moon was emerging over the ridge top behind me. Ahead of me the sun had just settled in for the night behind some distant hills and a brilliant sunset lit up the clouds on the horizon, giving them the appearance of having golden edges. The brush and trees around me were coming alive with the sounds of early evening. The serenity of the moment was like having a spiritual experience, beyond anything that could be experienced in a man-made cathedral. Those types of experiences are burned in my memory, and are the ones I visit in my mind, when I need a few moments to relax and recharge my batteries. That’s what Thoreau was talking about.

Don’t get me wrong; it’s nice to hook onto a fish that puts up a real fight before you land it. I release most of the fish I catch, especially the big ones. I usually carry my camera to record any prize catch before releasing it. We have to have proof. Everyone knows that fishermen tend to stretch the truth and the size of the fish.

Fishermen are also known to venture out in any type of weather. It’s not unusual to see a fisherman in waders in the middle of a cold trout stream, with snow still covering the ground. Rain doesn’t stop a fisherman either. My future son-in-law, Tim, and I went trout fishing together one weekend. As you know, the weather’s been a bit wet this spring and summer. It rained that weekend too. We ventured out in spite of a cold rain. Armed with all our wet weather gear, we looked like we were preparing to backpack into the wilds of Alaska. Wearing water-proof jackets with hoods, waterproof pants, and wading boots, we tackled the wet grass and marshy conditions found in many places along the streams. We even remembered to bring our fishing poles and tackle boxes.

We spread out and hiked for miles along the meandering streams, stopping to cast a few times in spots where trout are likely to hide. I stood with my back to the falling rain and peered out at the world from inside the dry protection of my hood and floppy fishing hat. It was like having a private, secluded inner sanctum from which to view the outside world. I found it very peaceful as the rain beat against my raingear and dripped off my hood. I looked down and spotted a morel mushroom.

Fishing became secondary, as I enjoyed the moment.