Good morning all,
I hope you're all ready for your Monday. I had a pretty rough weekend, with a bunch of personal stuff that I won't share here. However, I happened to be awake for a sunrise, and I chose to spend it by a river. I brought my fly rod, and didn't even assemble it. I didn't have to. I got what I needed from the river and the sunrise without ever trying to catch a fish with a fly rod.
What I needed, in this case, was the ability to think and enjoy nature. I didn't need to catch a fish. I just needed to be outside and have a few minutes of meditation. I didn't consciously set out to find meditation, or calm down in the river. However, I had to face the feelings I was having, and the best way to do so was by being there, enjoying a sunrise and listening to the water.
I wonder if this effect is similar to "tree bathing" I know that I benefited from this, and so did my significant other. We calmed down, because beauty and nature doesn't allow for you to be angry. Well, maybe it does, but it calmed us down. I know that the issues we were dealing with were serious and pretty crappy, but in the face of all that beauty, they faded in importance. We gained perspective, and were able to have a better conversation and make progress.
Anyhow, here's wishing y'all a great monday,
~Mark
Monday, September 24, 2018
Sunday, September 9, 2018
Zen and the art of fly fishing
Hi all,
I'm preparing to fly fish the Farmington River this morning. As you might imagine, this brings me back to my boyhood and the first time I fly fished. My dad's cousin Frank Arrigoni was my teacher in this regard. I remember going to his house, being shown how to cast, and the whole while thinking what a redneck he was. He was smoking a cigarette and dressed all in camouflage. He was an older guy, maybe 60, and he showed me ten and two, and how to wait for the line to get loaded before you flicked it forward. I was just out of D.A.R.E. and had been indoctrinated to believe that anyone who smoked was stupid or backwards. So I let my childhood assumptions guide me, judging before I gave him a chance.
As I got to know Frank better, I realized that he wore camo because he was a veteran. He had grown used to the military gear and thought it to be good quality, so he kept it for his wilderness exploits, and bought some at military surplus stores. I came to recognize that he smoked not because he was addicted, but because it kept the mosquitos and noseeums away when we were in the woods of Maine. I used citronella, which both Frank and my father thought was intolerable, but that I didn't mind much. They complained that it stunk up the old car we'd drive to the river, which already was redolent with smoke, age, and a hound named Duke. We saw moose, I gained nicknames (One-Cast Willie and Chief Fall-in the Creek) and I caught the first fish I ever caught with a fly of my own creation. Frank had showed me how to make a deer hair muddler with my grandma's quilting thread and some deer hair from an animal he'd shot. He made sure nothing was wasted, either in the fish we caught and then fried in bacon grease, or in the deer he'd taken during the previous hunting season. He picked up his cigarette filters, and we took trash from the riverside home to bring to the dump.
He also taught me to help his aging mother, who was afflicted with Alzheimer's, navigate the logging roads of his camp. She would take off walking, often without notice, and go several miles, sometimes getting confused as to where she was or who I was. My job was to keep Elsie safe, and make sure she got back home.
At any rate, through all this, I learned to fish, became a better young man, and tie some flies. I also learned to stop judging folks so easily, or so harshly. In fact, my English SAT II question was "describe a situation where someone turned out to be far different than you originally assumed." My lessons learned from Frank allowed me to get a perfect score, because my story about him was the best way I could respond to that question.
Ok, back to today. I decided to bring Mike to a spot I knew above the dam in Colebrook, because I knew it was sparsely fished and there were fish there. Unfortunately, though we saw 3 bald eagles, we had trouble getting through the mud to the river, then had trouble locating the fish. So back to the Farmington we went, to Mike's favorite spot.
As we got closer to the Farmington, we saw many more fishermen, as well as many herons and ducks. We saw many rises, and my friend had a few hits, but nobody caught a fish. That was ok though . . . we chatted about gender nonconforming folks, trout and why we love catching them, and told a few fish stories. We also caught up about the past 8 years and life, and I rediscovered something I forgot that I loved. The more we talked, the more I realized what a great friendship we'd been ignoring. Mike knows more about guitar than me, and I know a great deal about fishing and tying my own flies. I'll bet we can figure out how to teach each other both.
All in all, a great day of fishing, though we didn't do any catching. I hope you all have had a great Sunday, and you can think about some things you're @gr8fullyfeclub for.
I'm preparing to fly fish the Farmington River this morning. As you might imagine, this brings me back to my boyhood and the first time I fly fished. My dad's cousin Frank Arrigoni was my teacher in this regard. I remember going to his house, being shown how to cast, and the whole while thinking what a redneck he was. He was smoking a cigarette and dressed all in camouflage. He was an older guy, maybe 60, and he showed me ten and two, and how to wait for the line to get loaded before you flicked it forward. I was just out of D.A.R.E. and had been indoctrinated to believe that anyone who smoked was stupid or backwards. So I let my childhood assumptions guide me, judging before I gave him a chance.
As I got to know Frank better, I realized that he wore camo because he was a veteran. He had grown used to the military gear and thought it to be good quality, so he kept it for his wilderness exploits, and bought some at military surplus stores. I came to recognize that he smoked not because he was addicted, but because it kept the mosquitos and noseeums away when we were in the woods of Maine. I used citronella, which both Frank and my father thought was intolerable, but that I didn't mind much. They complained that it stunk up the old car we'd drive to the river, which already was redolent with smoke, age, and a hound named Duke. We saw moose, I gained nicknames (One-Cast Willie and Chief Fall-in the Creek) and I caught the first fish I ever caught with a fly of my own creation. Frank had showed me how to make a deer hair muddler with my grandma's quilting thread and some deer hair from an animal he'd shot. He made sure nothing was wasted, either in the fish we caught and then fried in bacon grease, or in the deer he'd taken during the previous hunting season. He picked up his cigarette filters, and we took trash from the riverside home to bring to the dump.
He also taught me to help his aging mother, who was afflicted with Alzheimer's, navigate the logging roads of his camp. She would take off walking, often without notice, and go several miles, sometimes getting confused as to where she was or who I was. My job was to keep Elsie safe, and make sure she got back home.
At any rate, through all this, I learned to fish, became a better young man, and tie some flies. I also learned to stop judging folks so easily, or so harshly. In fact, my English SAT II question was "describe a situation where someone turned out to be far different than you originally assumed." My lessons learned from Frank allowed me to get a perfect score, because my story about him was the best way I could respond to that question.
Ok, back to today. I decided to bring Mike to a spot I knew above the dam in Colebrook, because I knew it was sparsely fished and there were fish there. Unfortunately, though we saw 3 bald eagles, we had trouble getting through the mud to the river, then had trouble locating the fish. So back to the Farmington we went, to Mike's favorite spot.
As we got closer to the Farmington, we saw many more fishermen, as well as many herons and ducks. We saw many rises, and my friend had a few hits, but nobody caught a fish. That was ok though . . . we chatted about gender nonconforming folks, trout and why we love catching them, and told a few fish stories. We also caught up about the past 8 years and life, and I rediscovered something I forgot that I loved. The more we talked, the more I realized what a great friendship we'd been ignoring. Mike knows more about guitar than me, and I know a great deal about fishing and tying my own flies. I'll bet we can figure out how to teach each other both.
All in all, a great day of fishing, though we didn't do any catching. I hope you all have had a great Sunday, and you can think about some things you're @gr8fullyfeclub for.
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