Fishing is time consuming. So much so that few of us do as much of it as we would like. Those who manage to make a life of fishing and spend the bulk of their time on the water are labeled"trout burns" or "addicts" -- their rejection of the world's priorities making them targets for criticism.I envy those rogues, even as I carefully pencil my next fishing opportunity onto my calendar. They become mythic characters in that I imagine that they have managed to reject the attempts of society to order their lives for them.
And yet I can still steal away for a brief taste of that freedom -- and often enough to keep that spark of rebellion alive. An afternoon on a trout-filled stream (or panfish-filled lake, for that matter) has a timeless quality about it.
In much the same way as a kid can become wrapped up in play, even we fly fishers who are trapped in adulthood can dawdle along for hours. Sure there are fish to catch -- a new fly to tie on, a knot to tighten.
There are also birds to watch, butterflies to chase, and rocks to throw. There are flowers to smell, out-of-the-way spots to explore, and a zillion questions to ask. Once, after sitting on a big rock for a break, I spent a couple of hours of "fishing time" watching ants carry things as they marched in a long line to somewhere important.
As children, the ability to experience timelessness comes to us naturally; we can easily live completely in the moment. In fact we have to learn the ability to reflect on the past and plan for the future.
I remember one winter afternoon in Maine trying with everything in me to remember what it had felt like to go outside without a coat only a few months earlier. I could not imagine it.
But as we grow older and take on the trappings of adulthood, we relinquish the ability to lose ourselves in wandering and pointless adventure.
We are scolded for being late to dinner, or to class. When my mother would ask where I had been, my completely accurate answer, "Nowhere," was unacceptable.
The irony is the more efficiently I learn to use my time, the more quickly it passes and the less of it I seem to have.
My own life is governed by a watch and a schedule to the degree that I wonder which of us is master and which is slave.
As adults, a great amount of discipline is required for us to enter this world of timelessness; to recapture the ability to live in the moment. Indeed, our escapes from planning must be planned.
Setting aside time for fishing is a struggle.
And even once I am on the water I find I have to make a conscious and sustained effort to keep the concerns of life at bay.
But sometimes I can become so involved in watching the caddis flies drift along in front of me -- or so absorbed in determination to hook a fish I spot rising -- I can actually forget what time it is.
An ancient philosopher once debated whether it was ever possible to step into the same river twice. Since the water was in constant motion, he concluded that it was not possible. I think he was right for everyone except children -- and adults who make time to fish.
Special Thanks to the folks at AA Pro Shop for sponsoring Julie's article on GORP!
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