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. 

Fly-fishing is for Sissies!

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)

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. 

the morning calm

       That early morning calm is also great for fly-fishing in waders for reasons other than the scenery.  The youngsters on their jet-skis and tubes towed behind powerboats haven’t even gotten out of bed yet, let alone started their daily routine of driving the top feeding fish down into deeper water.  And there is often a thick mist on the lake that keeps any potential boat traffic wanting to go faster than you can row, tied to its dock.  When I’m fly-fishing the sunrise waters I often feel like I’ve got the whole lake to myself for an hour or two, even on the big holiday weekends.  I like that.

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. 

and Dar’s complex of docks.

       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. 

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.”