Fish before the rocks get slippery

There is a perfect river with perfect falls and perfect trout on which the sun always shines.

The river is called “The Temperance”. The river is in Northern Minnesota. In winter The Temperance barely gurgles under the ice, at spring thaw it rages. In summer it flows over smooth rocks and in autumn, before the rains, it trickles.

The Temperance can break your heart, break your ankles and break your fishing tackle. The Temperance also lifts your spirts, give you confidence in yourself and remind you of the bounty of Nature. Like a human, The Temperance has all the moods you need to experience.

Brother Bud fished The Temperance…probably for 70 years. He knows most of the rocks and rills by names he has given them. As he approached 75 he decided to not dash into the waters too quickly but to fish from the banks more. But fishing from the edge is not as much fun as when the fish, the rocks and the water conspire against you and your waders.

As he turned 80 I asked him if he still fished The Temperance. Sadly, he answered, “Not much.” I asked him why. He paused, looked to the ceiling and said in partial answer, “Fish before the rocks get too slippery!” It was one of those Buddhist moments of conversation where there is no answer, only reflection. Bud does not fish The Temperance anymore, at 86 the river is part of his personal fishing romance and if he did fish The Temperance, it would probably wash him out to Lake Superior.

The scene changes: to Tasmania, Australia; to St Helens, a small fishing village; to George’s Bay, a tidal bay about the size of the Duluth harbor past the ore docks. Now I am almost 80. Now Joan and I have a new 17 foot Canadian canoe. I fell out of the damn thing the first two times we went out…as we pushed it out from the shore. My head got tangeled in sea weed and Joan tried not to screech with laughter as I probably looked like a sea monster rising from the muck. Politely she turned her head…and screeched with laughter.

We have now got our canoe legs under us again and we fish as often as we can, canoe as much as possible and take our dog for a paddle when we can. We have probably become somewhat strange identities…these two old gray canoeists puffing across the bay with an equally gray dog.

But brother Bud’s words ring in my ears every time we go out, “Fish before the rocks get slippery!”