“I just go out there… by myself?”
“Yup. You’ve got your flashlight?”
“Yeah…”
“You can do it, bud. I’ll be right here.”
It was just a quick trip to go to the bathroom. But it was in the woods. And it was dark. And it was the first time he had done anything like that by himself. I was feet away inside the tent. Things like this are good for an eight year-old who’ll be a man sooner than I’d like to admit.
Plus, he wants to be able to do stuff like this. Recently he told me that he’d like our next house to have a lot of land. He wants trails and a pond or a creek. He said that he’d like to go for walks as soon as he wakes up in the morning when everything is still a little dark. He told me that he’d leave a note for us saying he’d be back. A quick trip to go to the bathroom while camping was good. Even if it was a little scary.
The first time I drove into the mountains to go fishing by myself started off in an unremarkable fashion. Interstates and highways, loud hair metal and greasy fast food. Roads I’d traveled numerous times before with friends didn’t feel all that different on a solo outing. But getting out of the car to only hear silence and to only see the settling dust from pulling into the remote parking lot felt different.
It was good. Even if it was a little scary.
We all have first times. Fishing around the bend from dad. Heading off into the woods to play alone. Hiking into the wilderness away from trails and cell service. Being left in a remote nowhere by a float plane. At 8, 18, or 80, a new first might be a little scary. That fear is good. It is natural. Fear is simply the awareness of the stakes. And we were designed to be aware of newness and the reality of potential danger.
Fear ought to always be at least a little scary. The river is too fast and too deep to wade across. The cliff is too steep to try to climb. But fear doesn’t have to be too scary. The river is fast and deep, so I had better take my time and plot my course. The cliff is steep… but I’ve learned I can handle it. Fear places things in perspective. Experience dictates whether it is too scary or just a little scary.
The outdoors presents an opportunity for people to see, confront, and wrestle fear. Adventure with a backpack, fly rod, or kayak is a tangible way to interact with things much larger than yourself. Things that should stir up a healthy fear. Things that remind modern man that he is not truly in control. These are the things that truly create adventure. Adventure with control and without healthy fear is the stuff of the virtual. You’re not confronted with anything. The risks are safe, so they aren’t really risks. Sterile calculations with ample safety nets don’t foster growth. Their fun is not as enduring.
An eight year-old boy confronted the healthy fear of walking into the dark woods when going to the bathroom before bed is good. Nintendo and toy soldiers and little league all have their place. But nothing about those things is even a little scary. There’s value, but not adventure.
I still get shivers when I think about how deep in the woods I find myself from time to time. The hair on the back of my neck will still inexplicably stand up. It isn’t the same as it was twenty years ago. But it still happens. Stumps are still bears and twigs snapping are still… they’re still who knows what. I hope that the woods and wild rivers are always a little scary.
Great point and very applicable to the other end of life. I just turned 69 and facing loss of agility that makes accessing banks a little daunting. I have some wadable waters nearby and waders that I could use to get access to more locations and casting space. But I do feel intimidated. I do need to take those prudent risks that reward with the satisfaction of new achievement. Thanks- Ralph
You can never be too old to be scared… and that’s a good thing.
Hi Matthew,
As previously stated, I am new to fly fishing and usually only have time for short opportunities. One evening this July, on my way home from shopping, I stoopped at the pool in a brook that is at the end of my street. There is only room for a roll cast (at least with my abilitiy) and once I got my line in order I caught two wild brook trout on my first two casts on a San Juan fly shortlky before sunset. These were my first trout on a fly, I was amazed how hard they fought for their size.
This is the only decent pool on the brook and frequently fished, so I stopped fishing. This was out of concern for not over-stressing this wild population on a managed stream. Also somehow, having dialed in to what they would take, I perhaps erroneously assumed this would continue to happen on most future casts. While perhaps I could have learned more about casts and retrieves that worked and failed, the thought of stresssing more fish Made me feel as I had received sufficient measure of reward from this pool for one day.
It all caused me to question catch and release as a sport. I think I have had more fulfilling nights fishing a beach without a catch but gaininging satisfaction from observing the structure of the shore, current and waves and gaining some skill in casting and working a lure. My primary objective in learning to fish is to catch dinner fare and to minimize harm to whatever fish I catch and can’t or shouldn’t harvest. But is relentless pursuit of catch and release as benign an affect on fish as those who pursue it profess? Even with proper handling and release, expending that energy in fighting plus creating the opportunity for infection from a wound is a clear traumatic episode, with no benefit. I also wonder how many released fish become prey to nearby predators.
I know you have reflected on this issue before, What was novel about this experience was my emotional feeling of comparing this successful short outling with a mixed sense of pride and guilt compared to longer episodes of being skunked and returnig home frustrated but elated.
A second issue I would propose for you to consider. I looked for the least expensive way to sample the sport and purchased a 5/6 WT Wakeman outfit for less than $30 from Walmart. While I do not doubt your derive true gratification from the enhanced visual, tactile and mechanical performance of the level of equipment you own, how impaired would you be fishing would you using my outfit? Converselyy, how much would I benefit from spending 10 to 20 times more than I did to begin to learn this sport?
Ralph
Hi Ralph,
Those are some great thoughts. I do think that both issues you brought up are subject to personal convictions. There is an acceptable range of what is right, but within that there is a lot of room for preference.
I think I’ll interact with some of the things you brought up in upcoming posts/podcasts.
Thanks again!