present and appreciate the beauty and splendor that surrounds me. Like a regular churchgoer, I take the inspiration from a “service” back to my daily life and relationships. On a steelhead trip there is a kind of Zen simplicity to it all. Eat when hungry, sleep when tired. You observe simple truths. You see fish moving upriver to spawn and realize that we are headed toward decomposition--that the carbon from our bodies will soon nourish the earth. When the blackberries on the river ripen, the steelhead will be in. For me, fishing is phenology. The University of Idaho could probably give me a degree in hydrology for all the hours I have spent looking at water data and surveying clouds.
“But don’t you think these are basically lessons kids could get by riding a bike through a forest? Peddling is certainly repetitive and soothing. Berries relate to bird watching.”
“Yeah, they are similar in value, but think about it. In what other sporting activity beside hunting do you so intimately interact with wild living species?”
Aaron nods, “In wildness is the preservation of the world” I suppose.
“Exactly. Our generation and those that follow are growing up in a virtual world. Food is no longer bound by the seasons and we have a real authenticity crisis. Our ancestors used to hunt woolly mammoth and impress women by providing calories. Now we just pick up way more than we need at Costco and craft some bullshit about enjoying long walks on the beach for our online dating profile because we are too timid to just tell a woman when she is tugging at our heart.”
Aaron laughs, and I can tell he is pleased to have riled me up.
“Come on dude, be fair, beach walks are good!”
“I’m just saying we need some outlets to connect with the primordial! You can’t just throw on a flannel, grow a beard and feel manly. You have to experience something raw!”
“Yeah, but what’s so raw about standing in a river with a long stick?”
“Imagine you are waving that stick around where you are no longer the apex predator. You are rowing down a coastal river with massive trees nourished by salmon carcasses and grizzly shit. You smell something foul in the downstream wind and glance back to see a 900 pound griz watching as you float by. It’s humbling. It’s visceral…but not terrifying. The shit that is more terrifying is thinking about how we got so far from this place. It’s thinking about returning to a job in a couple days where I’ll put some symbolic silk convention around my neck to do ‘work.’ I mean, I’ve spent enough time in the woods to know a cold beer and warm shower at the end of a day are great, and my boat is made of fiberglass and all, but fuck! What happened to us?”