It was a busy week and I didn't get a post written on Sunday. I'm trying to keep writing every week so while this may be "mailing it in," here are some of my favorites from on the Sounds of Fly Fishing section in Peter Kaminsky's "The Fly Fisherman's Guide to the Meaning of Life ." I hope you can appreciate these sections as much as I do. I would highly recommend reading the whole book.
Running Water
Burbling brook, running stream, crashing surf, rushing tide - there is music in water. Each one an overture, a promise (or at least the possibility) of fish on the rise, on the feed, ready to take. The primal moment for me is walking through the woods and first hearing the low susurrus, the faint whisper of running water in the distance, still so far of that it could be a stream or it could be the wind. Then - yes! - there is no mistaking the gentle babbling of water flowing over stones, soft as a lullaby, exciting as fireworks.
Barbaric Yawps
A sound arises when the fish are hitting - doesn't matter what kind, could be bluefish, striped bass, albacore, yellowfin, weakfish Then this happens, when a whole bunch of fish throw cautions to the winds (actually, they throw it to the waves) and pounce on a bait school, sometimes there is a group of anglers ready and waiting. First one angler connects with a high "Yippee!" then a couple more let fly with joyful unprintables, then every boat and every angler on the shore is screaming, yahooing, giving conflicting shouted directives, whistling, cursing a blue streak. It all blends in to one happy shout, a group yell of pure pleasure.
"Daddy, What do I do now"
A child not catching fish is a bored child, one not very likely to share Daddy's passion. Ah, but then a fish hits. You hear a squeak and a laugh, followed by the realization that "Ohmygod, this thing is for real and it wants to fight me!" At that point, your child is hooked on fishing and the plea for help and advice confirms this and swells a father's heart. I would be lying if I said I enjoy it more than catching a fish myself, but almost.
Silence
Yes, there is a sound to silence. If you don't believe me, listen to the stillness before dawn on a Montana creek, the quiet when the wind dies on Florida Bay as the sun sinks. There i the total absence of sound on the lakes of central Finland in the middle of the short Arctic night, the quiet when a wind-driven squall has rushed across a stream followed by the steamy stillness of the return of humid sumer heat. The world is full of sound over sound. To experience silence is to appreciate both sound and its absence. You feel part of the world - like the whole world or perhaps the only person in it.
