Fly-fishing in Alaska - Part 2

Something from the tackle box:

 Do everything better than anyone else.  You have stronger faith.  You speak better and know more.  You are eager to give, and you love us better.  Now you must give more generously than anyone else.  I am not ordering you to do this.  I am simply testing how real your love is by comparing it with the concern that others have shown.  You know that our Lord Jesus Christ was kind enough to give up all his riches and become poor, so that you could become rich.   (2Corinthians 8:7-9 CEV)

dolly varden trout

       Getting the chance to go fly-fishing in Alaska was a dream come true for this pretty much ‘home state of Michigan’ fisherman.  Here’s how it worked.  My wife won a cruise to Alaska in a charity raffle.  Isn’t that cool!  And she took me with her!  Even cooler.  On these cruises, if you want to, you can sign up for side excursions at each of the several ports of call, and my sweetheart allowed me to sign up for an afternoon fly-fishing trip out of Juneau, complete with guide, top-notch gear, bush pilot, and a flight in one of those little pontoon equipped airplanes that are a trademark of northern wilderness life and adventure. 

my sweetie on the cruise

       When we reached Juneau I was to take my excursion voucher and meet the representative of Bear Creek Outfitters on the dock next to our ship at 12:30, and from there be transported to their facility at the Juneau airport where we would gear-up and fly out.  It was on the dock waiting for our driver that I met Craig, a very nice young family man from Atlanta, who was the only other passenger on our cruise ship who had signed up for the fly-fishing out of Juneau experience. 

       As we waited for our transportation, which was over a half-hour late in arriving, our conversation naturally turned to our love of fishing and what had brought us to this particular point in our lives of fishing adventure.  I related the whole long story about by wife being blessed in winning a benefit raffle for our local public library, and how she had graciously allowed me to get in an afternoon of fly-fishing on her trip.  She understands how much I love fly-fishing, how it’s been a passion in my life for some years now, and how I will probably never get this opportunity again.  I told Craig how much I really wanted to catch a cutthroat trout, a species that we don’t have in Michigan and, although I know there are no guarantees in fishing, how disappointed I would be if I didn’t land at least one nice fish to take a picture of and tell a story about when I got back home.

     When Craig started to relate his story I soon perceived that this young man was afflicted with more than a touch of anxiety over this whole fly-fishing adventure situation we were in.  “I don’t know, I fish for bass mostly.  Spinning rod stuff from a boat.  Down south we fish for bass.  Why do you think they’re late picking us up?  I’ve only even touched a fly rod once or twice in my life.  My wife and family are on another excursion right now.  I love to fish.  I’ve got a nice boat at home.  I sure wish our transport would show up.  Do you think we should ask at the kiosk why they’re late picking us up?  They said beginners could go on this excursion.  Is there a number we should call for our transport?  I hope they get here soon.  I hope our guide is good.  I really love to fish and wanted to fish while we’re in Alaska.  Not sure about fly-fishing though.  This was the best fishing excursion for me to do time-wise with the family.  They ought to be here for us by now.  I would have preferred trolling for Halibut, but that didn’t work out for our schedule.  I’m going to the kiosk and have them call the outfitter.  Do you think it’s just us two going?  I’m kind of hoping it’s gonna’ be a small group.  Maybe it’s just you and me.  Is your wife doing something else while you fish?  My family is off on a glacier tour right now.  I’ve never really done any fly-fishing before.  I’m going to need some instruction.  I hope they have waders that fit me, - and don’t leak.  I fish from a boat mostly.  Never really done any wader fishing.  I hope they get here soon……..”

       Craig’s chain of bouncing thoughts didn’t bother me though.  I understood the anxiousness.  I was getting a bit worked up inside myself.  I really, really wanted to catch a nice fish in Alaska.  I wanted it a lot!  And this was going to be my only shot.  I listened and smiled, and did my best to reassure Craig that, come what may, this was going to be a wonderful experience that we would both treasure for our whole lives, our being a beginner or experienced with a fly rod notwithstanding.

       Eventually our transportation did arrive.  The driver collected our vouchers, sold us our one day Alaskan fishing license, and whisked us off to the airport to meet the other participants, do an orientation program, gear up, and fly out.

       The ride was 15 minutes or so, and to keep things light I talked with Craig about my experiences with fly-fishing over the years, especially about the early days in that first year or two after learning to work the old buggy whip.  I reassured him that it would be fine, that you don’t have to learn how to be an expert in one day, that I was certainly no expert after many years of frequent fly-fishing, that I had been able to fish, and catch fish, on the very first day that I ever picked up a fly rod, despite my inexperience.   Mostly I tried to covey that I was happy to have his company on this adventure and that we both stood a great chance to catch some fish regardless of our respective experience levels with a fly rod.  It’s just fishing after all, not rocket science.   

       He briefly smiled at my good intentioned words, but mostly just looked out the window at the scenery and fidgeted as we drove along.  “This is going to be fun,” I said, as we pulled into the lot of the outfitter’s home base.  “I’m hoping so,” was the subdued response.

       Inside we joined a larger group of people.  We’d be gearing up and dividing into three groups headed to three different fishing sites.  Craig and I would be in the smallest group.  We two, and an older fellow named Kyle from the wine country of California, would be headed out with our guide Joe and bush pilot Ed to a small tidal bay where a small stream empties into the inner passage waters.  We would be fishing for the Dolly Varden trout that liked to congregate and feed around the mouth of that stream this time of the year. 

       “Sorry to say, you’re not likely to catch any big salmon there today, boys.  You came to fish about 3 weeks too early for that, I think,” said our pilot as we headed over to the water runway from which we’d take off in our floatplane. 

windshield view of the water runway at juneau airport

       The takeoff, flight and landing on our bay in that little plane, was everything I had hoped it would be and more.  I got to sit up front next to the pilot and the views were grand.  Any wilderness is beautiful when seen from above, but Alaskan wilderness is extraordinarily beautiful, I must say.  Ed even went low to show us a pod of whales he had spotted in the inner passage waters.  You couldn’t have wiped the smile off my face with sandpaper.  Craig said little, and smiled even less.  “Enjoy!  We might never get to see this again,” I said. 

       After landing and unloading us, Ed waved goodbye with a promise to be back and pick us up for the return flight to Juneau around 6:30.  And with that, we were fly-fishing in Alaska. 

"be back to get you at six-thirty!"

       Kyle knew his way around a fly-rod nearly as well as I did, so Joe took Craig aside and gave him a few minutes of basic instruction.  Nothing fancy at all.  Just enough knowledge to get about 30 feet of lure, leader and line out in front of himself with little or no damage to life, limb and gear, and then haul it back in a way that would entice the Dollies to chance a snack on his streamer.  It wasn’t pretty, his lure was slapping the water behind him just about as often as it was landing in the water in front of him, but Craig was fly-fishing for trout in Alaska, - as were we all! 

       I had worked my way about 50 yards along the shore from the others, just to give everyone room, but also to spare Craig the obvious comparison between his short casts and my significantly longer casts into the bay.  Joe joined me there to add another 4 or 5 feet of tippet to my leader.  “Best to start with all of them pretty short, just in case everyone is a beginner,” he said as he finished attaching a new streamer to the end of my line.  “I’m not seeing nearly as much activity in the water as I had hoped for.  I sure hope we’re not in for a slow afternoon,” he added.

our fishing waters

       Me to.  I really, really, really want to catch a fish on a fly rod in Alaska.  Doesn’t even have to be a really big one.  Just a nice trout to take a picture of and remember this adventure in Alaska by for the rest of my life!  After an hour or so of no strikes for any of us, and precious little sign of any fish at all, I began to think that maybe fishing, but not FISH to talk about, would be our common fate. 

       I moved in closer to Craig to chat a bit.  He seemed to be showing his frustration a bit more as the time wore on.  You could see it on his face.  He was working that rod awfully hard, as if slapping the water more frequently and with more force would attract the missing fish. 

       “Relax, you’re doing fine, - or just as good as anyone else is,” I said with a chuckle, “Maybe ease up a little on your motion.  We’ve got more than a couple of hours of fishing yet to go, and you’re looking like you’ve already thrown a hundred pitches in this game.  If the fish come in we’ll get some.  If not, we’ll enjoy this fantastic scenery and fly home with smiles all around.” 

       “Yeah,” he replied, as a more genuine smile than I’d been seeing seemed to cross his face, “I’m beginning to see that now.” 

       At that, a “Whoooop!” was heard from just down shore.  We turned to see Kyle waist deep in the bay with his rod tipped over in a nice gentle arch.  Nothing giant we could tell, but a fish nonetheless, and a decent one too. 

a pretty nice trout

       We kept a polite distance as Joe went over and guided Kyle back to the shore and talked him into landing a nice Dolly Varden trout, well over a foot long.  After smiles, pictures, and watching Kyle releasing the catch back into the water, we all had fish fever.  We spread back out and went to work again. 

        But, an hour or so later, with no more action than we’d had in the time before Kyle’s lone-ranger trout, I could see that the frustration was starting to set back in with Craig, and that his arm was getting awfully tired to boot.  His upper arm was braced against his side as if it was glued there, and he was making short casts from his waist using only his forearm, splashing in the water fore and aft with every stroke, a grimace on his face. 

        As I turned back to take in the stunning view and mind my own casts into the late afternoon waters, I thought, ‘Another hour or so to go before the plane comes to pick us up.  Maybe Craig will appreciate a beer together once we’re back on the liner.  I’ll ask him on the way there.  He might have to drink it left-handed though.’

       “Oh, YEAH!” I heard.  I knew what that meant!  I reeled my line in and turned to watch the action. 

       There was Craig, backing onto shore, line tight from tip to water and rod bowed over every bit as far as you ever want to see your rod bowed over.  Once he had that fish on, Craig’s fishing instincts, and experience catching big southern bass with ultra-light tackle, took over.  He knew just what to do.  He backed himself onto the shore and played the fish like an expert.  A huge smile was on his face the whole time.  I managed to get my camera out and videoed the last half minute of the battle. 

       With the fish twisting exhausted in the shallows near the beach, Joe showed Craig how to pick it up and pose for the pictures to be taken before reviving the fish and turning it back into the waters.  Then Joe said, “One of these shots will go up on our web-site Craig.  You’ve just caught the first Silver Salmon of the season with Bear Creek Outfitters.  And it’s a dandy too!” 

       It was a very nice fish, well over 2 feet long, and Craig was beaming.  All the anxiety washed away with one great catch and the pictures to prove it. 

       That left only me.  “Another half hour or so to fish before the plane comes to take us back to Juneau,”  Joe explained.

       Kyle and Craig got back in the water, stripped a little line out and started to fish again with huge smiles on their faces.  Their attitude seemed downright nonchalant to me, at least compared to earlier.  But mine wasn’t, I still wanted to catch a fish.  I mean, I really, really, really wanted to catch a fish on my one and only chance to ever go fly-fishing in Alaska.

       “About ten more minutes,” Joe called out. 

       And then I felt it.  I set the hook and felt it pull solidly away from me on a run.  “Fish on!” I said in a loud voice.  The others turned to watch.

      I could tell it wasn’t huge, but that it was a decent fish.  It ran directly away from me for a short stretch.  I kept the line fairly tight but still allowed some to play out from the reel as the fish moved away.  I had a smile on my face.  This was fun! 

       Then it did something that you would think it would take more brains than a fish has to think of doing.  It turned and ran directly towards me.  As I worked like mad to haul in my line and keep some tension on the situation, that fish leaped from the water and shook like a wet dog while I had nothing to offer in resistance but slack line.  In a flash, I watched my green and red streamer fly out of its mouth and plop back in the water in front of me, - without a fish attached to its barbless hook.

       I could hear a collective groan arise from the three spectators to my brief and loosing battle. “That was a pretty nice trout.” I said, with that smile still on my face believe it or not. I could also hear the engine of our floatplane coming in over the hills. 

Something to take home in your creel:

       I would be lying if I told you that I didn’t mind losing that fish.  I still get a little sick feeling just thinking about it to this day.  I’ve caught plenty of nice fish on a fly-rod over the years, and that was not the only nice fish that I’ve ever lost, but that probably was my one and only opportunity to ever go fly-fishing in Alaska, and I really, really did want to catch at least one nice fish while I had that chance.  Oh well…

       On the drive back to our cruise ship from the airport I showed Craig the video I had taken of his catch and release of that trophy salmon he had landed.  I gave him my calling card and told him that if he e-mailed me at the church’s website, I would reply and send him a copy of the video along with the other photos I had taken on our adventure. 

       He said, “I appreciate that.”  Then he looked at my card.  “I didn’t have any idea you were a pastor.  Maybe that helps explain why you were so nice and patient with me while I was so uptight over looking stupid in front of everyone because I’d never fly-fished before.  I want you to know that I appreciated that even more than I appreciate you sending me that video.  I was also impressed by the way you reacted when you lost your nice fish.  My family tells me that I need to learn to be more like that when I’m bass fishing.  Now I can see why.  Thanks for that too.”

       “You’re very welcome,” I said, and added, “It helps that I’ve caught more than my share of nice fish along the way.  I’ve learned that it’s all a blessing when you’re out on the water.  What can you do BUT smile - whether you’re catching fish or not?  That being said, I have to tell you Craig, big smile on my face or not, I will always be more than a little bit jealous of that fish that you caught today!”

Fly-fishing in Alaska - Part 1

Something from the tackle box:

       Don’t be annoyed by anyone who does wrong, and don’t envy them.  They will soon disappear like grass without rain.  Trust the Lord and live right!  The land will be yours, and you will be safe.  Do what the Lord wants, and he will give you your heart’s desire.  Let the Lord lead you and trust him to help.  (Psalm 37:1-5 CEV)

       I do not believe in some people having good luck verses others having bad luck.  I’m not even very keen on the whole concept of “luck” in general, at least not as most people understand and use that word.  But this doesn’t mean that I’m a five point Calvinist in the reformed tradition either, attributing everything that is, to God’s will for it to be that way.  I believe in free will.  There are a whole range of possibilities inherent in almost all of the circumstances of our lives, a multitude of directions in which almost every little thing can go, and out of love, and for the possibility of love, God allows it to be that way. 

       Although God can and often does intervene in the affairs of our lives, to bless us, or even to curse us if it might draw us closer to him in the end, for the most part he allows us to live in the uncertainty of that multitude of possibilities inherent in any situation, and therein learn the truth that if we but look to Him in trust, we can know that in all things, all the possibilities of every little circumstance, no matter how each of them may turn out for us, God works for the good of those who love him and are called to fulfilling his purpose for their lives. As Isaiah told us; you will again see the Lord, your teacher, and he will guide you.  Whether you turn to the right or to the left, you will hear a voice saying, “This is the road!  Now follow it.”  (Isaiah 30:20b-21 CEV)

my 7th grade science teacher

       Outside of those occasional workings of direct Divine intervention in our lives, always done to accomplish God’s ends, which, as I said before, I do believe in, I do not believe that there is any “luck” involved in any one person being any luckier or unluckier than any other person. Or at least no “luck” which cannot be accounted for by ones influence on the variables that can modify the mathematic probabilities which are applicable to all of us on an equal footing.  Or, as my 7^th Grade science teacher told us in class one day, “The more you learn and the harder you work the luckier you will get!”  I believe there is a lot of wisdom in that observation.

       If, for instance, I know for a fact, from learning and from practice, that the Bluegills at the east end of Jordan Lake will take a yellow rubber spider quicker than they will a black rubber spider on a fly rod, I will be much “luckier” if I fish with a yellow rubber spider when I’m there. 

       Nothing is guaranteed mind you.  I may catch no Bluegills at all on any particular day using yellow rubber spiders.  I may even get out-fished by another fisherman who’s using black rubber spiders on another day.  But if I know that, as a general rule, the Bluegills at the east end of Jordan Lake prefer yellow rubber spiders over black ones, all else being equal, I will catch more fish using my yellows than that black spider fan will, over the long haul. - Unless, of course, - I don’t - because I haven’t correctly understood all of the other variables in the situation as well as I thought I had – while God and the black rubber spider fellow are laughing at me.   

       With all of that being said; my wife sure seems to be better at winning things than I am for no apparent reasons at all.  When it comes to door prizes and charity raffle tickets she has gleaned far more and nicer rewards than I have over the years, and I don’t think there’s enough time left in this life for me to catch up with her. 

my wife's door prize

       Once we went to a charity function where everyone was guaranteed to win a door prize.  She won the television set.  I think I might have won a nice pocket calendar, or something, I really don’t remember.  Oh! Now I remember, it was a camping hatchet.  I still have it.   

       My beautiful wife also recently won a week-long trip for two up the inner passage of Southeast Alaska on a luxury cruise ship.  I am really so grateful that she decided to take me along with her.  She is a peach.  I have never once, not even for a moment, regretted not using that hatchet I won on her television set back then. 

my door prize

       Now, on these cruises there are side excursions that you can book for each of your several stops along the route.  These were not covered in my wife’s prize package, you have to pay for those yourself, but if you want to do more than just walk around town and shop when you get to Ketchikan, Juneau and Skagway, the booked excursion is you best option to do something interesting in the time allotted. 

       As my wife would survey the catalogue of excursion choices for each stop, asking my opinion on each of them, it was hard for me.  There were all kinds of things to do.  Walking tours, carriage tours, car tours, boat tours and duck-truck tours, - ascending incline trams and descending zip-line rides, - small plane and helicopter rides over the glaciers, - train excursions up the canyons and over the mountains along the trail into the Yukon, - whale watching, seal watching, moose watching, bear watching, and eagle watching packets offering every hope, but no guarantees, of success.  All of them sounded very interesting and rewarding, each in their own way, but what I was interested in was the chance to fish.  And they offered that chance!

       Jackpot! All three of the Alaskan stopping points offered the opportunity to go fishing.  What an opportunity to indulge my passion!  Ocean fishing, stream and river fishing, high mountain lake fishing and every kind of fishing!  Look out Halibut, Salmon, Cutthroat, and Dolly Varden, I’m coming after all of you in turn! 

       But wait! This is my wife’s trip.  I am her guest, - and I love her, - and she doesn’t fish like I do.  She will fish, - but she doesn’t love to fish, - at least not every chance one can, like I do. 

this looks like so much fun!

       “Dearest, that train ride into the mountains at Skagway sounds neat.  Let’s do that. – And that duck-truck tour of Ketchikan looks like fun too! – But would you mind if I got on one of those little puddle-hopper planes and went fly-fishing for the afternoon while we’re in Juneau?  You know how much I love to fish, - and I’ll probably never get another chance to go fishing in Alaska, - and I love to fly-fish more than any other way to fish, - and I’ve always wanted to go up in one of those little pontoon planes and land on a lake in the wilderness, - The other fishing excursions sound like a lot of fun too, - but this is the one I really want to do. – Would it be alright with you?”

       “Hmmm. – Let’s see what the brochure says; ‘Enjoy an afternoon fly-fishing one of the many scenic hideaways in the Juneau area.  Fly to your wilderness fishing site by small water-landing plane.  Experienced pilots.  Veteran guide and all top grade equipment is provided for each small group of 3 to 5 participants.  Guides are trained to deal with bear and other wildlife that may be encountered.  Excursion suitable for every level of fly-fishing experience from beginner to advanced.  Expect to catch Grayling, Dolly Varden, cutthroat, and several different species of salmon depending on the season.  All fishing is catch-and-release.  Visit outfitter’s website for more details.’”

       “That sounds exactly like what I want to do while we’re in Alaska.  I would love to do that!”  

       “Well, - it certainly is one of the more expensive excursions in the catalogue. – A helicopter ride up to the glaciers to hike around and fly back is about the only one that tops it in price.” -

       “Yes, I’ll admit that it is expensive, - but I really, really do want to go fly-fishing while we’re in Alaska. – We don’t have cutthroat trout here in Michigan and I’ve always wanted to catch one of those.  It would be sooo cool to go fly-fishing in Alaska, - and this will probably be the only chance I ever get to do it, - and I really do want to do it. – Could I?”

       “Of course you can Honey.  We’re getting most of the trip for free, so we can spend the money to have some fun while we’re on it.  I figured that this is what you would most like to do when I first got the brochure, so have some fun and catch some fish.  I love you.”

       “And – I – love – you, – too.”  - HOORAY!! – I’m going to go fly-fishing in Alaska! – I can hardly wait until we get there! – I am one lucky, - or let me say, as I ought to say, - I am one very “blessed and loved” man!

Something to take home in your creel:

       Determining just how this world all works in relationship to its Creator, including the part that we get to play in all of that, is hard to say for certain.  It’s hard to say from just observing the workings of the world going on around us.  And I would contend that it is no less hard to determine from what we are told about how it all works in scripture. 

       Some would say that the Bible clearly insists that God is firmly in control of, and has indeed dictated, every single aspect of all of existence, right down to the number of hairs that are currently growing on each of our collective heads at any moment in time.  Others would say that, while the scriptures do indicate that God does indeed know the number of hairs currently on each of our collective heads, it does not insist that he causes that number to be what it is at any point in time.  That number will be influenced by the freedom that God has granted to all of his creation to truly participate in the life he has given it.  And, as far as we humans are concerned, the freedom to participate for or against his will for it all.

       While God maintains his ultimate control over the final outcome, the ultimate destiny for all of his creation, including each of us as individuals within it, he has also created us in his own image, each with the freedom to assist or resist in that march towards his eventual kingdom come, his will being done, on earth as it is in heaven.  We get to choose to accept or decline to participate in that march at every turn it takes. 

        It’s nothing to boast about if you choose to accept, in as far as you do participate you will do nothing positive in that respect apart from God’s grace, the power of his Holy Spirit working through you, enabling you to do it.  If you chose to assist, you cannot claim any credit for anything that comes of it apart from God working in you.  But you still get to choose!

       It’s also nothing to despair over if you have chosen to resist, - for the time being, - God’s love for you will not cease for all that.  The eventual death held over you by the powers of all the alternatives to God’s Way will still dissipate the moment you turn back to your Creator in loving trust and submission and give yourself over, heart, mind, body and soul, to his will.  The door to redemption and participation in God’s never ending life is never closed to you, at least not as long as you draw a breath in this life.  You can never shut God out in that respect. 
       But still, it is your choice to make.  God does not insist that any of us must choose his love, wherein we find life, or that any of us must choose against his love and life.  We are free in that regard, even if we are free in no other.  Love demands that freedom, - and God is love.

Fishing With an Artist

Something from the tackle box:

       A truly good wife is the most precious treasure a man can find!  Her husband depends on her, and she never lets him down.  She is good to him every day of her life…  She is like a sailing ship that brings food from across the sea.  She gets up before daylight to prepare food for her family and her servants.  She knows how to buy and sell land and how to plant a vineyard, and she always works hard… She is strong and graceful, as well as cheerful about the future.  Her words are sensible, and her advice is thoughtful.  She takes good care of her family and is never lazy.  Her children praise her, and with great pride her husband says, “There are many good women, but you are the best!”  (selected verses from Proverbs 31  CEV)

       In my last post I included a watercolor painted by my wife, Kathy.  The work shows me fly fishing in the water near our Cheboygan cottage.  It is a beautiful picture and the original hangs in our house office space, where it brings me joy every day.  I recently changed the profile picture on my facebook page to this image and the response by my friends has been so positive that I've decided to devote a page on this blog to my relationship with the wonderful artist that I am married to. 

       Kathy and I actually met in an art class.  We were both art majors at Western Michigan University back in the mid-70s.  She was learning how to make a living as a graphic designer, while I was trying to decide if I really should become a High school art teacher.  She became a very good designer and worked for a number of advertising and design firms over the year before settling down, thirteen years ago, to her current home in the publications department of Kellogg Community College, which she now manages.  I never did become an art teacher, - or even tried to very hard.  

I am not the only good looking fisherman in Kathy's life.

       The first class we had together was a life drawing class.  It was here that I first noticed how very, very pretty she was.  She sometimes wore a very soft looking sky blue sweater that was stunningly attractive on her.  But I never said much more that “hello” to her at this point.  She was an extremely quiet young lady in class and showed no real interest in my company. 

       Our first conversation happened later, when we were taking a sculpture class together.  I had a good friend in that class named Greg Stewart, a very talented art student with a gregarious personality, and we were always talking about something while working on our sculpture assignments together. 

       One day we were talking about the socio-economic milieu of our respective High school days.  Kathy was working right next to us.  Greg came from a decidedly upper-class suburb of Detroit, while I was from a generally lower to middle-class rural community.  He commented that many of his classmates did not ride the bus to school, as the chauffeur would always drop them off and pick them up in one of the family's limousines.  I responded that no one ever came to my school in a limo, but those who didn’t want to ride the bus might well drive one of the family tractors to school, and it was not uncommon to see five or six of them in the school parking lot on any given day.  Greg laughed like he didn’t believe it, and that’s when the future love of my life got into the conversation.

       “Really!  I know kids who drove their tractors to my High school, too!” 

painting of grandson Nolan

       And with that "butt-in" my sweetie was part of the conversation, and a part of my life from then on.  It was not long before we realized that she had only lived about a fifteen-minute drive from where I had grown up.  Our old school districts had bordered on one another.  In fact, if her farm home had been situated a scant three miles north of where it was, we would have most likely taken some High school art classes together long before this. 

      We went together like peas and carrots.  Kathy has told me that, the first time she took me home to meet her family and I walked in through the farmhouse kitchen door, it was as if I already belonged there as much as she did.  I felt just the same way when she was with my kin, (although my old pet dog, who was nearing the end of her life, never did cotton to Kathy – a bit jealous, I think.) To abbreviate a wonderful romance, and life, with three kids, three grand-kids, a couple of career changes, a bout with cancer, and a few home moves along the way, I think she is more beautiful than she was in that sky blue sweater back in college, and I love her even more than I did back then.

Kathy fishing out of our canoe

       But what’s all of this got to do with fishing?  Well, my wife doesn’t love to fish the way I love to fish, - but she doesn’t mind it either!  Not at all!  We go out fishing together a half-dozen times or so every year, and we always have a great time together.  (Stay tuned! I will be writing more about how she often out-fishes me in an upcoming story.)  And even when we don’t go out together, as, weather permitting, I try to get out on the water at least a couple times every week, she encourages me in my love of the sport.  She is the one who bought me fly-fishing lessons as a Christmas present and got me started on that passion many seasons past.  She is the one who encouraged me to buy the lake canoe, which we use a lot.  She is the one lets me know when the freezer is getting low on blue gill fillets and I need to do something about it.  And, most impressively, she is the one who my love of fishing and the water has inspiration for some of her best artwork. 

       We have actually spent time together looking at pictures of Michigan fish, talking about what they look like, how they feed, how they swim, what are the best ways to catch them, how they behave when they are hooked, and how that can all be depicted in a painting.  What fun for a fisherman!  What fun for an artist!

bluegill on a hare's ear

Something to take home in your creel

       The real reason for posting this article is to show you some of what she had done with watercolor, paper and brush, works of art that I am so proud of my wife for creating. She is a peach, and a pretty good fisherman as well.

brown trout on a wet fly

fishing boats in Peggy's Cove

water reflections

water reflections

As Little or as Much as You Want

Something from the tackle box:

       Jesus crossed Lake Galilee, which was also know as Lake Tiberias.  A large crowd had seen him work miracles to heal the sick, and those people went with him.  It was almost time for the Jewish festival of Passover, and Jesus went up on a mountain with his disciples and sat down.

       When Jesus saw the large crowd coming towards him, he asked Philip, “Where will we get enough food to feed all these people?”  He said this to test Philip, since he already knew what he was going to do.

       Philip answered, “Don’t you know that it would take almost a year’s wages just to buy only a little bread for each of these people?”

       Andrew, the brother of Simon Peter, was one of the disciples.  He spoke up and said, “There is a boy here who has five small loaves of barley bread and two fish.  But what good is that with all these people?”

       The ground was covered with grass, and Jesus told his disciples to have everyone sit down.  About five thousand men were in the crowd.  Jesus took the bread in his hands and gave thanks to God.  Then he passed the bread to the people, and he did the same with the fish, until everyone had plenty to eat.   (John 6:1-11 CEV)

       One of the activities that I really enjoy, especially in the summertime, is going to a good fish fry.  Not a restaurant fish dinner.  Even if they call it a "fish fry” and serve it every Friday night and a lot of people order it, for religious reasons or just because they like fish as much as I do, it’s not a fish fry.  It might be a good dinner out, but it’s not going to a fish fry any more than going out for ribs at the local steak house is going to a barbeque. 

this is NOT a fish fry

       No, a fish fry involves a lot of people who don’t cook fish for a living doing most all of the work.  Sometimes there’s some money exchange involved, as I’ll explain in just a minute, but nobody’s earning his or her way through life by doing it.  Quite often it is purely a social event, done simply for camaraderie over a good meal, with little or no concern for the costs involved.

       Now, as I just hinted, there are two kinds of fish fries that you can go to, and they are both enjoyable, but one is better than the other in my opinion, and it’s the reason I say that I especially enjoy going in the summertime.

this IS a fish fry

       The first kind of fish fry you can go to, which I do like, is your local community, “let’s raise a few bucks for the good cause,” kind of fish fry.  The kind where you’ll see the rollout sign next to the church hall that says, “Fish Fry Tonight – come support our daycare and pre-school programs – All are Welcome.” 

       These are generally good fish fries, but not usually because of the food,  They are good because they are a community event.  People make plans to meet each other and share dinner together at one of the long school-cafeteria style tables that will invariably be set up.  With a little agreement about when you and your friends are all getting there, you can all enjoy a lot of food and great company in a very relaxed atmosphere, which is worthwhile. 

       But the fish itself, while it may be good, - even very good, - is also going to be commercially acquired.  Store bought.  It has to be.  If you’re going to invite the public and charge them a price, even if it is to support the pre-school program, you’re going to have to pass a state inspection that isn’t going to allow you to clean, fry and serve up the mess of catfish that old uncle Ed caught down at Mud Holler at different times over the last several weeks. 

this is NOT a good plate of fish

       Nope.  You’re going to have to buy the fish, - probably frozen fish, - at one of the bulk food stores where most restaurants get their fish.  Hopefully the guy or gal in charge of the purchase gets good fish, fillets that haven’t been pre-breaded or battered, fish that can be thawed and prepared as if they where local caught.  That can turn out to be pretty tasty, if the organization is willing to go to the expense and work of doing it that way.  But the closer the main entrée gets to what I would call, “fish stix,” the less likely I am to ever come back for another of their fish fries, good company not withstanding. 

       Of course, the second kind of fish fry is the   type that I really enjoy being a part of.   That’s the private, invitation only affair, put on by a local crack-pot fisherman, or fisherwoman, who wants to share their season’s good fortune with friends and family.  Which is generally much appreciated by the friends and family that are shared with. 

this IS a good plate of fish

       I guess I should explain what I mean by a “Crack-pot” fisherman.  I got this definition from humorist, Ed Zern, who wrote something to the effect that; People who fish primarily for food, the sport of fishing being inconsequential, are called pot-fishermen.  The more expert ones are called crack pot-fishermen.  All other fishermen, who are in it for the sport, are called crackpot fishermen.  I know this is confusing. 

       Anyway, these private affairs are where the really good locally caught fish and the best camaraderie are most likely to be found.  I have been blessed to have been invited to a good many of these affairs over the years, and have even hosted a few smaller ones out of my own summer’s pan-fish catch. 

       Meaning no disrespect to the people who are reading this story right now, those who have hosted me at their absolutely wonderful fish fries, which I most earnestly desire to be invited to again and again in the future, I would like to tell you about my favorite such affair, hosted by my colleague Jerry Jones, now retired, but at that time the pastor of the Congregational Church in Greenville. 

       At that time Jerry and his wife Marilyn kept a summer home on the banks of the Clam River in between Cadillac and Lake City, about an hour’s drive north from Greenville.  Jerry and I are very good friends, the bond being reinforced by the fact that we are both avid outdoorsmen.  Jerry is primarily a hunter, while I love to fish, but the bond is there.  The Clam being a pretty decent trout stream, and knowing how much I love to fly-fish, I had a standing invitation to drop by any time and wade into the creek off of his property, which I did every now and then. 

       On one such occasion, after I’d called it quits in the river for the morning, Jerry and I got to talking, and he told me that his son, who liked to fish about as much as I did, had talked him into buying a good sized boat to keep docked at the marina in Lake City for fishing on Lake Missaukee.  They had done some trolling for bigger fish out on the lake with very little success, but then had noticed that there was one section of the lake, in the shallow reedy part, were smaller boats congregated and people seemed to be having a lot of fun catching lots of little bluegills and sunfish.  They had gone over to join the fun but, having only heavier tackle for bigger fish, they were only able to hook and land a half-dozen or so between the two of them.        

       After telling me this tale of woe, Jerry was wondering if I wouldn’t go out with him and show him how to rig up some smaller hooks and tackle with the right baits and get in on the pan-fishing frenzy.  I said that I happened to have a couple of light spinning rods and a tackle-box in the back of my car, and we could go out that afternoon if he liked.  Which is exactly what we did. 

       To get to the matter at hand, we came home with around 40 nice panfish between the two of us, which we cleaned and popped in his freezer.  Added to the dozen he and his son had caught earlier, we had over 100 nice little fillets to dispose of.  And that’s a good number to start thinking about a fish fry with. 

       We decided that we would invite all our fellow pastors in the Western Michigan Association of Congregational Christian Churches, along with their spouses and kids if they had them, to a social gathering and fish fry on the banks of the Clam River in two weeks time.  We have these kinds of gathering, an ice cream social or dinner out at a Chinese restaurant, once or twice a year and knew that we would get between a dozen and twenty people to come. 

       I did the math and figured that if we did have a good turnout, there would be about five little pieces of fish per hungry mouth, which would be OK, as long as we had lots of sides.  So I asked Jerry, “What do we want to do about tater salad and coleslaw?  Do we want to do French Fries?  What about the pop and the iced tea?  What about deserts?  Do we want ice cream, cake, or homemade cookies? A few little pieces of fish per person is not going to be enough for everyone.”

       And this is where the spiritual lesson starts to come in: Jerry just shook his head and said, “I’m not up to worrying about all of that.  Just send out the invitation saying: Mark and Jerry caught the fish.  They’ll cook ‘em if you’ll come and eat ‘em!  Put the date, time and location on there and then we’ll just see what happens.  I’m betting we’ll have more food than we can eat.”  

       I had my doubts, but that’s what I did.  Within a few days I’m getting phone calls; Reverend Barry Lucas in Allegan want to know how MUCH potato salad he should bring.  Should he bring a macaroni salad too, or just the potato?  Reverend David Kleis in Eau Claire is picking up a couple dozen Hawaiian bread dinner rolls on the way up, should he get more?  Reverend Eddie Winter is bringing four homemade pies, one each, apple, cherry, lemon meringue and banana cream.  Should she try to bring the ice cream too?  It might get too soft by the time she gets there from Saugatuck. 

       Most of the ones who didn’t call still brought stuff.  We had more people than even the high end of what we had planned on – and more food than we could eat.  We didn’t even quite clean up all the fish that Jerry and I cooked.  There weren’t even close to five thousand of us there, more like two dozen, but if you had gathered up what was left over it might have filled up at least one good-sized basket. 

       Jerry knew what was going to happen – even though I had had my doubts.  Will miracles never cease? 

Something to take home in your creel:  

       I believe in miracles, and especially the miracles that are presented to us in the bible as miracles.  If the story tells us that Jesus started breaking up and handing out a few loaves of bread and two fish to the crowds, and that when he did so the fish and bread “miraculously” feed everyone there with a dozen baskets of leftovers taken up afterwards, then that’s exactly what happened – miraculously - as far as I’m concerned.

       But I also agree with the hymnist, William Cowper, that God works in mysterious ways, His wonders to perform.  I believe that those kinds of miracles worked by Jesus, - in people’s hearts, minds and souls, - were in fact, much more mystical and wonderful than the miracles he worked by superseding the laws of time, space and matter with his divine prerogative to do so.  I believe that a soul moved from self-centered greed, to self-giving generosity, is cause for greater rejoicing in the kingdom of heaven than a mountain picked up and moved from here to there. 

       The bible says that Jesus’ multiplying of the loaves and fishes was a miraculous sign that people saw, and which caused them to begin proclaiming Jesus as the Prophet of God come into the world.  But, I ask you, if Jesus hadn’t miraculously multiplied the loaves and fishes, - as he did, - but had rather miraculously changed every heart in the crowd, - so that when each and every one of them who saw him give every bit of what he had to someone else to eat – was then inspired to give every last morsel that he or she had stowed away in their pocket, pouch, sack or hamper to the person next to them out of selfless generosity, - and then that person did the same, and so on like falling dominos throughout the crowd until there were twelve baskets of food left that no one could give away because there was no one left who hadn’t eaten all that they wanted and more, - because everyone in the crowd was only thinking about the other guy, - If Jesus had done that, - would it have been any less of a miracle than turning five loaves of barley bread and two fish into enough food to feed the crowd, like he did? – I’m inclined to think that it would have been even more of a miracle than what we are told that Jesus did do.  But then, - maybe, - Jesus did both.  - Now there’s a thought.

       Good people, who have been touched by God with His goodness, always have generous hearts.  You can pick them right out.  When you offer them something, almost anything, they can’t help but show a desire to offer even more back to you or someone else in response.  It’s all part of the miracle of their being formed into the image of Christ, the likeness of God’s own Son, which the bible tells us is a part of our salvation, at least for all who’ve really answered that calling.   

       I should have known that just as well as Jerry Jones knew it.