Manly pursuits

As I start writing this post, the country music station began a song that begins with the words, "Something about a truck..."  Ah yes, manly pursuits.

This morning at 0445 (4:45 AM for my civilian friends), my Marine buddy pulled up in his pick-up truck.  We loaded my fishing gear along side his and headed out for a lake east of here.  Definitely a manly pursuit. Two retired Marines, a pick-up, and fishing.

We arrived just as the sun was rising.  A clear, beautiful day.  The lake, nestled among tall pine trees, awaited us.  A few hawks and other birds were already in the sky, no doubt looking for their breakfast.  Otherwise near silence.  We parked the truck in a little camp ground, then grabbed our gear and headed down to the water's edge.  The temperature was perfect for wearing a sweatshirt.  Not cold and not hot.  Eagerly, just like the youngsters we once were, we took our positions and geared up the rods and reels.  Finding the right rock on which to stand.  Studying the water to decide where to make that first cast.  Two guys on the water, looking to hook into trout for dinner.  A manly pursuit.

Once we had rigged our lines, each of us made that first cast into the water.  It is truly a special moment, when you see the line sail out, then see the bait and weight drop into the water.  I'd spent a lot of time preparing the fishing gear, which is a collection from my childhood and my parent's gear.  Pop is gone and Mom doesn't fish any longer.  Several rods and reels, plus tackle boxes, and other odds and ends.  The items collectively and individually evoke memories of the countless days I spent fishing with my father, and family.  That first cast today reminded me of all the days we'd spent fishing during my upbringing.  The early mornings, up on the river on the mountain.  Great times...manly pursuits.

As I was laying out the gear last night, I decided to take two rods and reels.  The first was the last set up my dad purchased.  It has a special meaning, because he had purchased it in 1980.  That summer, we'd returned from overseas and were staying at my folks' place.  Shortly after getting home, I told my dad we expected to go up on "the river," as we referred to the area we went fishing.  However, he stated he couldn't go, because of his health issues (poor heart, poor circulations, etc.).  I responded that I was going up the next morning, no matter what.  Imagine my surprise, as I came down stairs to find him dressed, the fishing gear laid out, lunch made and packed, and the coffee ready.  He said he'd go with me, but probably wouldn't fish, because he couldn't climb up and down the river banks anymore.  Well, we went up the river and had a great time time.  In the days, weeks, months, and years that followed, he and Mom went fishing many, many times.  They also took our family, introducing my children to the river that I learned to love as a child and teen. Anyway, after that morning up on the river, he went out and bought a new rod and reel, a great set up for trout fishing.   I remain convinced that going up on the river on the fishing trips added years to his life.  He passed a number of years ago and this was my first trout fishing outing in decades, so it seemed right to take his rod and reel for the outing.

Carrying his rod and reel reminded me of growing up with my father's guidance, teaching, and example, as we enjoyed fishing.  Sometimes with the family.  Sometimes,, just the two of us.  Manly pursuits.  Talking about everything under the sun.  Using fishing as an outlet, such as going out the day after I broke my arm for the sixth time and learning I would have to undergo corrective surgery at age 14.  There was just something about hitting the river and learning how to revere nature and act like a man on the mountain.  As I made that first cast today, I felt as if I were in the perfect place that fishing can take you.  I also sensed my dad would have been smiling as I flipped that nightcrawler out into the lake.  It epitomized the manly pursuit of enjoying nature, being out with a good buddy.

After a few strong bites, I'd missed hooking any fish.  But it looked promising.  Then my Marine buddy Pat said, "It's about time."  He'd hooked a nice sized trout.  I grabbed the net as he tried to maneuver the fish to the bank.  I got down to the water's edge and was trying to scoop the fish up in the net.  Then the fish got off the hook and I blew it, letting the fish get by me.  Damn!  I let my buddy down, because I didn't get the fish into the net.  (I offer that men get upset when they let down a friend.  As a man, it is important to support your friends and be there for them, even in something as relatively minor as getting a trout into the net.  Unfortunately, way too elected officials [such as the current POTUS] have absolutely no understanding of this manly concept.)  I felt horrible.  But Pat is a great buddy and promised that it was OK, though he'd use this episode to pimp me for years to come.  As men, we continued fishing, convinced that we'd bring home a good string of trout.

Some time later, a duck and a white goose swam up in front of us, maybe five to six feet out from the bank into the lake.  Swimming in front of us, they were honking and being a distraction.  At this point, we each had our lines out in the lake, with the rods set into the rocks to prevent them from falling into the lake.  Then, without warning, the goose starting flapping its wings and prepared to starting flying, sort of running along the surface of the water.  At first I thought it was great, that they were leaving.  Then I stared as the goose caught up in my line and the rod and reel were yanked into the lake.  Shouting, "There goes my rod and reel," I watched as they were pulled into the water and disappeared.  Pat turned just in time to see them disappear.  We both raced to the water's edge, but couldn't see the rod and reel.  The goose was gyrating around, with the line wrapped around its neck.  After it went further and further into the lake, its gyrations finally resulted in freeing it from the line.  The end result was pulling the rod and reel so far that we'd never get them.            

After being momentarily speechless, we looked at each other and started laughing.  And laugh we did, until our sides hurt.  Though sad at loosing my father's rod and reel, the entire incident was so unusual, so unexpected, and so surreal, we had to laugh.  Then, of course, the barbs started flying my way.  "Damn, can't you hold on to your gear?"  Of course, I had the perfect couple of comments for our wives.  My buddy would say, "Dang, but he lost the one fish I hooked today."  I could then respond, "Lost a fish?  Well, let me tell you how I lost my rod and reel!"  I figure he'll yank my chain about it for years to come.  Manly pursuits!