Fishing Runs Through It

And Fishing Runs Through It

I've been having attacks of nostalgia lately.  Probably because I'm getting older than dirt and looking back seems to be a way of life for old-folks.  I know that memories are twisted and warped, generally making them better than the reality was, but still we do like our golden oldy memories.  As the saying goes "the older I get the better I was."

I've had the usual ups and downs in my life, nothing particularly unique about it, other than it being mine.  I'm fond of it anyway.  I had an excellent child-hood with outstanding parents.  Graduated high-school, went into the army, came out of the army and into college, out of college and into the exciting world of construction.  Moved and moved and moved and moved.

Got married, had children, divorced, married again, and grand children.  Through all of my life, fishing has run through it. If there has been one true constant in my life, it has to be fishing.  I grew up hunting also, hunted like a fiend until my thirties when I realized I had killed my life-time limit already and so I stopped hunting.  But fishing has been consistent and constant.

Fishing has run through my life like nothing else has.  There will come a time I guess when I'll be too old to be able to fish, and I truly dread that day.  I've seen it happen.  It happened to my dad, he got to the point he couldn't walk and fishing was left in the dust.  He wasn't the fanatic about fishing that I am though.  I'm thinking I can figure out a way to fish without walking, at least for a while.  Maybe a wheelchair and a dock. 

But even then, even when I can no longer wheel up to the water's edge, I'll have a life time of memories to draw on.  I'll still be fishing if only in my mind.  I wouldn't be surprised if my last thoughts will be of fishing. 

I can still fish though, and will as long as I possibly can.  Every fishing trip is a new experience, a new realization of how wonderful it is to be in tune with nature.  I learn as I fish, and not just about fishing.  I learn about the grace of life, the powerful circle of life and death, and the inevitability of fading away someday.  I learn to appreciate the moments that I still have, to live in the present moment, and to revel in the beauty of this planet that is teeming with life.  And I learn that killing is necessary to survival, but that taking life when necessary should be done with a sense of loss and a sense of gratitude.

My ashes will be scattered in the Brazos River, where I will continue to be part of the river's cycles, those cycles of life that I watch when I'm fishing. Those cycles that are inevitable and hold a terrible beauty.  Without those cycles there would be no life and I would never have been given this ultimate gift of life.  Or the knowledge that each moment is precious beyond words, and fleeting.

Fishing has run through my life since before I could walk, and will run through my life when I can no longer walk.  And nothing else in my life will have been as constant and valued of a companion, none other will have witnessed the totality of my life as fishing has.  I'll leave with only one regret, the regret that there won't be just one more cast before going home.