I have been asked, what is it about fishing? Many find it dull, boring, and frustrating. But I find a mystery in fishing and rarely do I get lost in the lack of catching.
Who can say exactly what it is, maybe it is the slight breeze brushing your face, fingers and toes numb from the cold, sun glistening shimmers of golds and yellows off rolling waves - that is magic. Then there is the silence of just the water, the pressure from the current and knowing a fall would not be good. Don’t get me wrong there is no evil on the water. It is where God can tell you he is good and you believe him because the beauty shouts it out. It is a time and place where time can stand still and God might say, look around do you see me?”
Of course there is the challenge of figuring it out. The beauty of the fly dancing out to that perfect spot, the strike when you thought you missed it, the thrill of measuring out the line while all the time keeping a smooth and silky tension allowing no slack to disrupt the music you and the fish are making. Then comes that flash of silver and you see him bull back down deep for his final run. A laugh of delight rings out over the water. Your friend might give you the thumbs up shouting back encouragement. A hundred casts, five hundred cast, a thousand casts? Who is to say what number fills a day on the water? The sun finally drops down behind the horizon and a day on the water comes to an end. Weariness is on your face as you step out of your waders and even then with painful muscles aching, you know it was good. A mental tension that was there is now gone, and a good tired has now permeated you.
It could now be a drive home or maybe sitting around a fire with a blistering hot cup of coffee with that friend who has no demands. Sure he will jab and mock that you only have fish stories and you will jab back but the smile and the bantering seals a bond and a memory of another day on the water.
By the way Homer rarely gets invited fishing.