Accepting imperfection

In my younger days, decades ago, I sometimes drove to Idaho in the Summer. At the time I had in-laws who Summered in Rexburg, ID. It took some research and adjustment to recognize that about this time of year snowmelt still had many Idaho trout streams high and discolored. It wasn't until July or later that the flows moderated to "fishable" conditions.

these flies still need to get wet

Photo by J. Harrington

As today's posting is being written, about 25 or 50 miles+/- East or West in a storm track stands between us, our local trout streams (the ones we've been trying to get to for weeks now), and either about .25 inches or 3 to 5 inches of rain tonight and tomorrow. Rain in the higher amounts may well despoil local fishing for a week or two, or more.

a trout stream at a fishable level

Photo by J. Harrington

Fortunately, I'm once again in a mode of studying wabi sabi, a world view centered on the acceptance of transience and imperfection.  I'm hoping any serious imperfections in the fishability of our trout streams will be transient. (I know that's not how it's "supposed" to work, but, if the sandal fits, ....) Thursday, Friday, and the upcoming weekend look to offer ideal weather. I hereby commit to fitting in at least two trips, even if brief and imperfect, between now and Monday, the Ides of June. If I'm successful, there will be some photos of at least one stream. Any trout photos will be  icing on a cake yet to be baked.

In lieu of our usual poem, please accept the following as one of the better prose poems ever written by a fisherman. Background on the poem and its author can be found here.

Testament of a Fisherman

I fish because I love to. Because I love the environs where trout are found, which are invariably beautiful, and hate the environs where crowds of people are found, which are invariably ugly. Because of all the television commercials, cocktail parties, and assorted social posturing I thus escape. Because in a world where most men seem to spend their lives doing what they hate, my fishing is at once an endless source of delight and an act of small rebellion. Because trout do not lie or cheat and cannot be bought or bribed, or impressed by power, but respond only to quietude and humility, and endless patience. Because I suspect that men are going this way for the last time and I for one don’t want to waste the trip. Because mercifully there are no telephones on trout waters. Because in the woods I can find solitude without loneliness. … And finally, not because I regard fishing as being so terribly important, but because I suspect that so many of the other concerns of men are equally unimportant and not nearly so much fun.

— Robert Traver, Anatomy of a Fisherman

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