Something from the tackle box:
Moses asked the Lord, “Suppose
everyone refuses to listen to my message, and no one believes that you really
appeared to me?”
The Lord answered, “What’s
that in your hand?”
“A walking stick,” Moses
replied.
“Throw it down!” the Lord commanded. So Moses threw the stick on the
ground. It immediately turned into
a snake, and Moses jumped back.
“Pick it up by the tail!” the Lord told him. And when Moses did this, the snake
turned back into a walking stick.
“Do this,” the Lord said, “and
the Israelites will believe that you have seen me, the God who was worshiped by
their ancestors Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.” (Exodus 4:1-5 CEV)
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| my wife Kathy is a mighty fine watercolor artist |
When I’m
up at my place on Long Lake, one of my favorite things to do is to go wading in
the waters right around my own cottage, fly rod in hand, in the early morning
light of dawn. Those who live on
inland-lake waters know that, for an hour or so right around sunrise, the
breezes will often cease and the surface of the water will become dead calm, so
that the whole lake becomes a giant mirror perfectly reflecting what ever is
going on above its surface in the lightening sky of morning. It doesn’t last long. Once the sun is much above the tops of
the trees the breezes will pick up and the surface of the lake will become its
usual rippled and broken reflection of the world above. The same thing often happens at sunset
as well, but the visual effect is usually lost to the wake left by the fleet of
early evening pontoon boats cruising round and round the lake until it’s
dark.
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| the morning calm |
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| This is me right near my dock |
I have to
wear chest-waders when I fly-fish the lake like this, hip boots won’t do. There is a lot of good firm bottom around my place, but it slopes
into deep water fairly near the shoreline. I know that to get enough room to work a popper on a
fly-line out into the water, and not get snagged in the tree-lined shore on the
back side of my cast, I’m going to have to get into the water at least waist
deep. It’s all part of the
fun.
When I
wade into the water next to my own dock I can go to the right or the left for
good fishing. If I go left I cross
in front of the water entrance to my own boathouse and then it’s a short wade
to Roy and Bonnie’s dock. If I
work my way around the end of their long dock, with the water almost reaching
the top of my waders, I can get to a huge spread of lily pads marking where one
of the springs feeding the lake makes it’s entrance from a huge marsh across
the road and off to the west.
Fishing around the edges of that spread of lily pads has put a lot of
bluegills in the frying pan over the years.
But if I
feel like trying for some bigger fish, smallmouth bass, I go to the right from
my dock. There is a large vacant
lot on that side of my place that provides about sixty yards of undeveloped
shoreline, with lots of trees leaning out over the water, and eventually
falling in to form the underwater structures that bass love wait in ambush
around. Once past the trees you
come to Chuck
Chuck and Dar have lots of boats and their waterfront looks like a
marina in the summertime. With
that many dock posts going down into the water the bass have even more places
to lurk in the shade. This is a
good stretch to wade around and fish in before most people have even sat down
to their breakfast. And, like I
said, I usually have it all to myself. – But not always.
I will
always remember the day I engaged in a little competitive bass fishing on one
of these perfect mornings. I had
determined the night before to go out at first light and fish for gills off to
the left, maybe catch my lunch. I had
all my gear rigged and ready to go before I went to bed. Just slip into the waders and fishing
vest, grab the nine-foot, three-weight rod, already rigged out with a rubber
spider tied to the end of the tippet, and then get into the water. If I had been going to fish for bass,
off to the right, I would have set up something a bit heavier, a five or seven-weight
rod, but the lighter three-weight is really more fun to catch the smaller fish
on, and that’s what I was going after.
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| a perfect morning for wading around my boathouse |
It was a
perfect confluence of all the conditions I love most about that time and place
to fish. The water was dead calm
and a very thick mist lay on the lake, a dense fog that didn’t even let you see
as far as you could cast. I eased
into the water as quietly as I could and worked my way over to the lily pads. The only sounds were the early morning
bird songs from shore and the low throat noises of a family of mergansers that
swam close enough to get a glance at what I was doing through the mist before
turning to go fish for themselves further off into the lily pads.
The
environment was mystical, - but the fishing was not. After half an hour of casting without a single fish rising
to several different bugs, flies and poppers that I tried, I decided to backtrack
and try the bassier waters off to the right of my dock. The sky was getting much lighter but
the mist was still on the water, just not quite as heavy, you could see out
twenty yards or more now. I didn’t
want to take the time to change rods and I reassured myself with the
observation that most of the bass I’d been seeing over by Chuck and Dar’s place
were only running about a foot long at most, a size which the three weight rod
and 5X tippet could handle if I didn’t try to just muscle them in.
So I started working in that direction, the tree
lined bank on my right and the mist covered open water on my left. You had to go slow and pay attention,
because this was the stretch of submerged logs and branches, so I was pretty
focused on the water right in front of me. – And that’s when the bass boat
crept up on me out of the mist over my left shoulder.
I hadn’t
heard it coming because they were using an electric trolling motor to ease
themselves through the heavy mist around the edge of the lake and cast their
crank baits and rubber worms up around all the docks and other near shore
hangouts that bass like. There
were three young men in the boat, all well under thirty I would guess, one in the
front swivel seat, on in the back swivel seat and one standing mid-boat between
them.
They had
seen me before I had seen them and had stopped fishing to give a wide berth
until they got around me, which was the courteous thing to do, and I
appreciated that.
“Good
morning,” said the one in the middle, quite politely, “Havin’ any luck?”
“I haven’t
had a single fish show any interest at all in anything I’m offering yet this
morning,” I replied.
The one
in the back came back, “Well, do you ever catch anything worth pullin’ up out
of the water fishing that way?” which made the other two chuckle.
It wasn’t
quite as polite as his friend’s opening question, but still, the tone was more
in the manner of a good natured jest than a blatant insult, so I shrugged and smiled
and said, “Oh, don’t worry about me.
I catch my fair share of decent fish.”
“Oh yeah,
I’ll bet!” snarked the one in the front of the boat, just as they were pulling
up abreast of me. And then he
added. “If you ask me, I think fly fishing is for sissies!” which made the
others chuckle even louder than before.
And that very
moment is when I got another assurance that, yes, there really is a God, and
yes, he really does love me, because no sooner were the words out of his mouth
than the water where I had just laid my popper with a beautiful long cast
erupted like someone had tossed a pumpkin in the water! My long light rod bent over like a
one-day-old moon as I set my hook on a very nice bass that proceeded to splash
and jump like she was auditioning for the cirque du soleil.
I make it
a general rule not to overtly pray to catch any particular fish, I believe that
there are much more important things to pray about in this life, but I was
really hoping that I would be allowed to get this particular fish in close
enough to lift her out of the water by her lip before that boat of young bucks
disappeared into the mist in front of me.
And that’s just the way it happened, thanks be to God.
She
wasn’t the biggest bass I’ve ever landed with a fly rod, but as I held her up
for inspection it was obvious to anyone with eyes that she was easily better
than a foot long, which is more fish than I’m often able to land on that light
of tackle.
“Well, I
guess I’ve been blessed with my fair share again today boys,” I beamed as they
pulled away ahead of me
The lad
standing in the middle laughed and applauded. “Well done!” he called back, making his own cast as they
sank into the mist.
“What are
ya’ clappin’ for?” I heard the one in front gripe under his breath to his
friend.
“Well,
he’s one fish up on us for the day!” came the reply, which I believe was
intentionally spoken loud enough for me to hear, and certainly did make the
fellow in the back of the boat laugh loud enough to hear.
“harrumph, – well – I still think fly fishing is for
sissies, - mumble, grumble….”
And then they were
gone. I wished them well.
I don’t often kiss a fish
before I put them back in the water, but I did that morning. She may not have been the biggest
little smallmouth bass I’ve ever caught, but she was definitely the most
beautiful!
Something to take home in your creel:
Catching
a fish with a fly-rod in front of some snarky pups in a fancy bass boat is in
no way, shape or form, an example of witnessing to, let alone defending, one’s
faith. I would blush to even
suggest that it was. But there is
an applicable lesson to be gleaned from the incident, as there is from any
grace-filled moment you can recognize and acknowledge as such in life.
As a
Christian, I believe that God is right there with us in all of our
circumstance, be they good, bad, or somewhere in-between. And I believe the promise that He will
give us the things to say and do when we are called on to defend our faith in
the face of those who ridicule, or even persecute us for it. As a pastor, I’ve preached as
much. God promised it to Moses,
and Jesus promises it to all of his followers. (Exodus 4:11-12 & Matthew 10:18-20)
And yet, I can think of many, many times
when I’ve later thought, ‘I should have said this,’ or, ‘I could have done
that,’ instead of just standing there like an idiot and holding my tongue when
I’m faced with mocking or disparaging words. Everyone I’ve ever talked to about this has admitted to often
feeling the same way themselves.
It would seem that this is far the more common way things turn out for
us in these situations. No one I
know has admitted to feeling like they’ve just played the part of a Moses speaking
to Pharaoh, or of a Stephen witnessing to the Sanhedrin, I know that I’ve never
felt that way, and I believe there is a good and valid reason for this.
God does not
need us to defend Him, which is what we’re really wishing we had done when we
think like this. He has never
needed any of us to defend him.
Those who make a habit of trying to defend God, or of even wanting to
defend God, are wading in deep waters with a mucky bottom. They thrash, and splash and make quite
a foolish spectacle of themselves, - and they usually end up all wet despite all
their histrionics, or more likely, as a result of them. God does not need or want us to do that
for Him.
We,
however, are always in need of a God to defend us, - and especially so when we
are about doing the business of his Kingdom in the face of those opposed to it.
That he will do, just as he
promised. And when it happens it
just happens, without any effort on our part over and above just being there
for it to happen through. This is
what God did for Moses, and what the Spirit of Christ did for his disciples. This
is what God has promised to do for us yet today, whenever HE feels it is called
for. And when it does happen for
you, if ever, it really will be as easy as pointing to the fish that’s been
placed there in your hand, and simply saying, “This is God’s work, and not
mine.”
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