Winter is finally beginning to show its teeth here in Maine, in spite of the lack of snow, and I thought I would drift a bit off history here today and share one of my latest poems and video productions to while the winter time away. Just a spot of time to remind us that while the weather may not be the best today, it soon will be warm and sunny again, and then we can grab that old pole and reel, and head for waters unknown to do battle with the elements of the natural world on our own terms.
For those of you who have followed me for a while, you know that in addition to writing about preparedness, survival and history, I also dabble in poetry as well. I came up with a poem that talks about the sport of fishing, and addresses the question of “just exactly what is fishing all about, anyways?” For you preppers and survivalists out there, it is a way to harvest protein for your families table. For those of you who do not care about preparing for the coming times, it is a way to recreate in a special way.
Fishing holds a lot of different meaning for a lot of different people, but unless you have really been in a situation where you have that ultimate catch, you really cannot get the full depth of what fishing is really all about.
Imagine yourself fly-fishing on a little mountain stream, if you will. It is a warmish late spring day. The flies are buzzing lazily in the air around you, and there is just enough of a breeze coming down the mountain to temper the suns strength. You cast your favorite fly over that hole where you just know a big one is lurking, and start to reel the line back.
Suddenly, you feel the tug as a fish tastes the delicacy you have so skillfully presented, and then the bite, the hook sinking deep into the trout’s lips. He reacts, diving deep into the pool for the safety of his home. But you have different plans, and the fight begins between the man and fin. You play out line and the fish tries to flee, and then you reel some line back in, a little more each time. And each time the fish weakens just a little, until suddenly, after what seems like hours, but is really only a few minutes, the fish, in a sudden burst of adrenaline bursts from the surface of the stream.
Water sprays and splashes, revealing the sparkling color of its scales, reflected in the midday sun. the Rainbow flips his tail in an audible slap, sending a spray of water across the deep blue sky, each drop of water glistening, appearing as a hundred diamonds sprayed across the air, each one reflecting the colors of the sun in a glittering rainbow spread across the scene before you.
Until you have actually been in a position similar to this picture painted here in words, you really have not been fishing, and until you have, you really cannot fathom what fishing really is. For some, fishing is about accumulating equipment, buying the latest surefire lure and the latest technological advance in poles and reels and maybe that pro class bass boat. However, that is like going to church every Sunday and not knowing God. It just does not give you the true sense of what life is really all about.
Here for your enjoyment is the video-poem that I put together. There is some archive video showing some fishing during the ’40s and early 50’s time frame, as well as an entertaining newsreel piece at the beginning. I hope you like the poem, as well as the video, and feel free to share.