Feeding you a line?

I saw a report today on social media that someone in or around Madison, WI saw Canada geese flying north. A different report from east-central Minnesota noted maple tree sap is flowing. I’d be more concerned but nature has been around for a lot longer than we have and I suspect Mother will sort it all out with or without us. More likely without us if we persist in our hubris.

The local ten day forecast has us close to seasonable high temperatures in the low 30’s by Valentine’s Day. We’ll have to wait and see what comes after that. Meanwhile, I’ve collaborated with the Better Half and we have her fly rods and reels sorted and organized. Now it’s time for me to tackle the morass that my gear has become. Maybe by week’s end (this or next) I’ll be joyfully reporting that the rods, reels and lines have been matched and lists made of options. I don’t think I’ve developed a moderate case of OCD as much as I’ve gotten tired of spending as much time as I do finding what I want in a reasonable period of time. It’s sort of my own version of the troubles caused by deferred maintenance. Or, if you prefer and are old enough, think about the aggravation finding "tab A to go in slot B and be held with screw D.”

do I really need one of each?

Photo by J. Harrington

Life was simpler when ninety-nine percent of my fly fishing was only for bluegills and pumpkinseeds. Trout are somewhat more selective and the water types in which they feed vary a lot more. Plus the types and shapes of fly lines have increased by leaps and bounds, or something like that. To borrow and corrupt a phrase, that’s what makes horse races, although I’m coming to believe it’s also what increases dependency on technologies rather than building personal skills. I don’t want to give you the impression I believe having options and choices is a bad thing, but I vaguely remember being a kid with a nickel in a penny candy store faced with what seemed like impossible decisions and again when the ice cream flavor choices expanded from vanilla or chocolate to twenty-six flavors.

Balance

By Alice B. Fogel

Balance is everything, is the only

way to hold on.

I've weighed the alternatives, the hold

as harbor: It isn't safe

to let go. But consider the hover,

choices made, the moment

between later and too late.

Hesitation is later, regret

too late. You can't keep turning

and turning, or expecting

to return. This earth

is not a wheel, it is a rock

that erodes, mountain by mountain.

And I have been too soft,

like sandstone, but there is a point

where I stand without a story,

immutable and moved, solid

as a breath in winter air.

I have seen my death and I know

it is my neighbor, my brother,

my keeper. In my life

I am going to keep trying

for the balance,

remembering the risks and the value

of extremes, and that experience

teaches the length of allowable lean;

that it is easier — and wiser —

to balance a stone as if on one toe

though it weigh a hundred pounds

than to push it back against the curve

of its own world.

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