I can’t describe it any other way than a moment of Zen. At least that’s the way it felt, from falling down the deepest chasm only to rise out and above to new heights.
I have to capture this event while still fresh, wishing only that I had managed a picture, but it was too fleeting. My iPhone lay on the table in front of me, but using it would have broken the moment.
I regret the above photograph is not mine, but rather came from Shutterstock under license.
I left the city early this morning and headed to the lake in order to try to catch a few trout. My favorite pastime. My one-hour drive showed on the map that I’d be there at 6:40, way before daybreak but early enough to claim the best spot on the lake.
The best spot for me anyway, with a picnic table next to a long casting platform that runs parallel to the upper inlet.This is where the various springs and small creek feed into the main lake, a favorite spot for rainbow trout.
The casting platforms are basically a lot of landscape timbers that form the “wall” and jut out along the side of the lake.The space created by the timbers are then filled with gravel to make it easier to stand on and cast a fly rod. It’s a “gentleman’s sport” and this makes it easier for us old guys.
There’s one casting platform on each side, but the one nearest to the road is lower, closer to the waterline. This makes it easier to bend down and net the fish. The preferred spot for most of us older anglers, with all our aches and pains. Old retired fools like me.
Civic twilight, where the sun casts enough light to see my line and the strike indicator floating 30 feet in front of me. I had lugged all my rods, net and gear, plus a hot coffee down to the picnic table and started off with a minnow pattern fly. It’d been slow the last week or two, probably from the work they’d just done on the dam, and having to lower the lake. So I was really surprised that by the second cast I had a fish on.
Netted, a quick picture of the first fish of the day, then released back in the water to live out its life. At least until it was caught again by someone else.
I texted the picture to Will, who replied back he overslept and would be up in half an hour.
I had the whole place to myself, which doesn’t bother me at all. Deathly quiet, peaceful.
Ten more casts and I had landed 5 rainbows. I gently removed the barbless fly from the fish’s mouth, this last fish bigger than the rest, and released it. That’s all I do is catch and release. Does a fish feel pain? I think so, but I try to be as gentle as possible.
That’s when it hit me, when I stood up and turned to get my coffee to warm up a bit. I lost myself completely, as the song Karma Police by Radiohead goes. For a minute there, I lost myself. I know now what that feels like, the intended context of that message.
I looked down at everything on the picnic table, at the gravel under my feet, my black sneakers.
“How did I get to this point, what the hell am I doing here?”
It was like stepping off the edge of a cliff, falling into a blacker abyss.My life rushed by in seconds – everything I’d done, all the people I’d met. I couldn’t understand who I was though and what pathways have led me to standing in this spot at this exact moment in time.
I began that slide into depression, the pathway worn smooth from all the previous episodes. How had I gotten so old, where are the people who used to be in my life? Most or many dead and gone.
I had no idea what I was doing, or why. I just stood frozen in place, my feet too heavy to move. I wondered about sliding into the water myself, like a big fish, and sinking to the bottom.
I didn’t see it at first, but simply felt its presence. Behind me, off my right shoulder.
Then there it was, whipping five feet over my head, and passing directly over me.
A migrating osprey had stopped by the lake this morning, hoping to catch a young trout itself. I heard the whoosh of its wings as it quickly passed over, then cruised out above the water fast and focused. He turned and came back around, one more pass over the water then off to try another spot on the lake.
Such a beautiful creature, it had pulled me up from the abyss with its shrill cry, calling to its mate. I came out of the fog, back to the simple reality of doing nothing but fishing.
I’ve heard and seen ospreys on the lake several times before, usually in Spring as they return from the south. Then again as they migrate back to the warmth in Fall. Like today.
This was special, at the right time and right place. I had felt its soul in mine and decided this is where I was meant to be at this moment in time.
I picked up my rod and re-cast, watching as my strike indicator hit the water 30 feet in front of me.
And I thought out loud, “you have to exist to feel this, and where else can you feel part of the world at this very minute.”
I felt so in touch with everything and everyone, even though I was so very alone.
Well, never alone I guess.
Another fish on, and I heard the crunch of gravel as Will pulled up in his truck.
“Morning sir!” He always calls me “sir” for some reason. Respect maybe?
“All by yourself?”
Not quite, a friend had stopped by.