To wet a line sometimes takes willpower

 

I walked out the store with our local DNR fisheries officer, who has always been kind and helpful to me – about which I feel surprised too often and then grateful. We were talking fishing: fish and waters and bugs and similar. We talked for a good ten minutes. I haven’t been fishing too much. Sometimes I feel like a poseur. That’s an old Gen-X term, a post-punk epithet. The affective ‘-eur’ made it look ironic.

After work I went to the grocery store, where I can interact with many middle-aged women who treat me nice, and warmly. They seem to like to see me, too. The super nice lady at the deli counter, who calls me “Sunshine” (now that’s irony!), asked if I’ve been busy (Yes, fairly) and busy fishing?

“I quit,” I said, and she laughed. She wasn’t sure if I was joking.

‘Writer!’ can be an epithet. A demeaning put down. Meaning someone taking a passive approach to life; sitting at a desk, during the rain and then during the sunshine; a person writing about other people living more interesting lives, or making stuff up, or – worse yet – just writing about themselves.

James Egan shows off two fish he recently caught. The fish were perfect for a frying pan, or, if cleaned properly and deboned, a great meal for a hungry dog. Photo courtesy of James Egan

I suppose I am known as a writer (and grateful for that), or a dog lover (or at least a dog owner) or a duck hunter (marginally), and maybe a painter or gardener or aficionado, and hopefully a handyman and problem solver. A good listener. Also known for not so good of things which I won’t list out here.

First and last to know about me and fishing is that I just honestly don’t catch many fish. I can remember each walleye or laker or northern or rainbow or brookie I’ve caught in the past year and count them all together on two hands and one foot. Sure, I catch a lot of smallmouth and largemouth, but that’s hardly worth mentioning.

I’m not a big-water guy. Not a big boat guy. My hands ruin small engines. So, I like to be on my feet on the creeks and small rivers. I’ll even wade the shores of lakes when I’m fishing bass or stocked rainbows. But it gets to be lonely. I haven’t used the word ‘lonely’ in many, many years. Creek fishing or river fishing and hiking and wading are tough. Driving into the most remote spots can cause me anxiety. Of course, parking in the most remote spots makes me anxious too.

But then I get up the willpower to go out again, and if I do catch that 14-inch smallmouth on a cork popper I tied myself, or a 2-pound black bass on my grandfather’s old, rusted Shannon double spinner, or a little brook trout on half a nightcrawler, it is a special feeling for just me alone and apart. And I feel like a maturing fisherman. This is all right.