Opening testament(s) of (real) fishermen

 Today I want to share some background on why I was so disappointed by the Star Tribune’s coverage of the 2022 Minnesota Governor’s Fishing Opener. John Voelker (Robert Traver's) Testament Of A Fisherman is the antithesis of what I read in the Strib. Here’s a sample of Testament from the American Museum of Fly Fishing’s web site:

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 things 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 along 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 only in the woods can I find solitude without loneliness; because bourbon out of an old tin cup always tastes better out there; because maybe one day I will catch a mermaid; 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.67

For an endearing visual presentation of the Testament, follow the link to the right and watch Testify | A Visual Poem of Trout Fishing.

Root River Rod Co.

Photo by J. Harrington

Now, as far as I know, most past “Governor’s Fishing Openers” involved more than a little “environs where crowds of people are found, which are invariably ugly;” plus “television commercials, cocktail parties, and assorted social posturing....”

A longer and more complex portrait of fishing, particularly fly fishing, is found in the 1992 Robert Redford film, A River Runs Through It, adapted from Norman Maclean’s novella of the same title.

On the west coast of Canada, Roderick Haig-Brown occupies a place of honor similar to Robert Traver's in Michigan and the US. Some years ago he gave a speech with what are reported to be the following observations about the then government etc. [Why Haig-Brown Matters More Than Ever]

• He described British Columbia as a profligate province and listed what he hated most. And what he hated most was “the shoddy, uncaring development of our natural resources, the chamber of commerce mentality which favors short-term material gain over all other consideration, the utter contempt for human values of every kind.”
• Thanks to the looming threat of oil tankers, bitumen pipelines and LNG terminals, the content of the talk and its emotion remains as timely as they were more than 50 years ago. For Haig-Brown, as he often did, highlighted an enduring cultural defect that still plagues our political affairs.

I'm not willing to sit silently by as columnists and/or reporters complain about a failure to continue what's become an overly-commercialized event that diminishes, in my opinion, the significant role fishing can play in life. If you want to explore the commercial side of angling, try the Sports' Show. If you're just in it for the meat, it's less expensive to buy fish at the market. Minnesota has many different fishing openers each year. Let's wish the governor tight lines and move on, or better yet, move back to 2013 when the maligned Star Tribune honored the spirit of angling when they published

A sampling of poems from Larry Gavin

March 23, 2013 — 6:12pm

 

BEFORE STEPPING

"The words stop but the meaning keeps going on." Basho

Let it be the moment

before stepping into the water to fish.

Flies lined up in a box like

days on a calendar. A cigar

still unlit waiting: cows,

the definition of bliss, graze along

the far bank like those things

in life we hope to never forget.

Be there in that moment.

Just before water presses and

chills against legs; the gentle

pressure of time passing.

Wait a moment and study rocks

or insects diaphanous as the skin

on a girl's wrist, and the sky

so blue: and high, and clear,

and bright. Let it be the moment

before stepping off the bank

from solid ground to gravel

and sand, and the muck we originally

crawled out of, into a new world

that contains our better self. And

let that world last for our

own particular kind of forever.

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