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December 18, 2011Another Place to Spend your Time and Money
November 15, 2011Gary Siemer has launched a new vintage and classic fly fishing tackle dealer’s website. The simply named “Vintage Fly Tackle” site can be found at http://www.vintageflytackle.com/. The site features a stunning array of beautiful rods, reels, art, books, and more — all of which is easily viewed in categories. The dealer and website owner also intends to create a “research” section on the website. No doubt, this will be a wonderful place to visit, regardless of whether one is going there to purchase or just peruse. Gary also posts regular updates on the Vintage Fly Tackle facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/VintageFlyTackle.
Harry Middleton, the Smokies, and Life as Fire
November 11, 2011Time has a way of defining its own symmetry and fulfilling its own rhythms. Days are days, though, and are best used by spending each one fully, nothing saved. For years I tried collecting time as though it were precious stones, certain than if I gave myself completely to earning a living fifty weeks a year, I could wrench a year’s worth of solace, solitude, relaxation, joy, and fulfillment out of two weeks’ vacation. It never worked. I never felt better, only empty and exhausted. These days I try not to divide time but only use it, use it all, as it comes, living through it all like fire moving through dry grass leaving only ashes. Because things come and go. Come and go.
Harry Middleton, On the Spine of Time: An Angler’s Love of the Smokies (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1991), 192.
This last weekend I spent a few days fishing in the Great Smokey Mountains National Park. A friend, who is familiar with the Park and the neighboring Eastern Band of Cherokee Land Trust, or Qualla Boundary, showed me some of his favorite streams and taught me a bit about Cherokee culture too. The waters we visited were wonderful, and I enjoyed learning about the people who call the area home.
Hiking along some of these Smokey Mountains streams, I found myself thinking of the late writer Harry Middleton. During his all-too-short life, Middleton authored a number of books that have become true classics in the canon of outdoor literature. Middleton struggled with the professional troubles that many authors do. But some of his writings indicate that he seemed to face some more fundamental, personal challenges as well. Sadly, he passed away in his mid-forties (and age I am rapidly approaching). Still, in some of Middleton’s books, particularly in the pages of On the Spine of Time, he left a clear record of his love of fly fishing in the Smokey Mountains and his deep appreciation for those who shared his love.
Middleton and his writings came naturally to mind as I walked some of the same fishing paths that he walked, only a few years before. While my own life has been far from trouble free, thoughts of fish caught and future fishing adventures are among the things that keep me going. Of course, my love of family and the world less touched by human culture are also among these things. These may not have always been enough for Middleton, even if this speculation contradicts the implicit claim in the main title of his first book: The Earth is Enough (you can find a copy of this book on my for sale page).
In the preface to the 1996 edition of The Earth is Enough: Growing up in a World of Flyfishing, Trout, and Old Men (1989), author and painter Russell Chatham writes the following:
Middleton’s passion is manifested through intelligence, sensitivity, and compassion to create a profound ode to the earth and to mankind, governed by respect, gentleness, and humor. At all appropriate moments this story will make you weep convulsively, burst out laughing, and cause you to ache with longing. The sadness is that these qualities certainly contributed to the doom of their creator. Passion and soul, the dual sources of everything valuable and meaningful, are not very hot commodities in our largely puritanical, calvinistic, money-driven republic. In a society like ours, layered with ennui, greed, aggressive ignorance, dispassionate, poor-quality living, all soaked in a gooey solution of snake-belly-grade voyeurism a la Oprah et al., the sensitive frequently don’t make it.
I’m pretty sensitive myself. Nevertheless, all those things I mentioned above bring pleasure to my life. So does reading Middleton’s books. If you haven’t read them yet yourself, I suggest that you do. And you need not be a fly fisher to enjoy doing so. Indeed, my first Middleton book was given to me by a non-fishing student. Inside the cover, the student inscribed, “it most definitely made me dream of a lifestyle much different than the one I lead today.” Middleton would have liked this inscription. And he might have hoped that my student began to live “like fire moving through dry grass.”
By the way, if you find yourself in the area, spend some time in the Smokies. The mountains and streams of the area are truly gorgeous, even to a displaced, home-sick Montanan like myself.
The Great Pearl Bailey offers some Fishing Music
September 29, 2011
A Great Writer Interviewed
September 25, 2011Some of you fly fishers are likely familiar with the novels and poems of Jim Harrison. Harrison writes often of Michigan, but now lives in Livingston, Montana. He is well-known not just for his writings, but for his friendships with other fishing writers and artists, such as Tom McGuane, Richard Brautigan, and Russell Chatham. If you are not familiar with the works of these men, you owe it yourself to pick up one of their books or to take a look at Chatham’s art. You might also take a look at the movie Tarpon, which features some members of this crowd fly fishing for tarpon in 1970’s Key West.
In the meantime, enjoy this interview with Harrison, published in the most recent issue of Outside Magazine. He is a fascinating, one-of-a kind personality.
Fishing only in Words
September 25, 2011If any readers have recently wondered about the lack of posts, this resulted from the need to meet some writing deadlines in the non-cyber world. Fortunately, at least some of that writing involved fishing. More on that later. Meanwhile, my deadlines are met (though more are quickly creeping up), and I look forward to putting the computer, pictured below, to some more enjoyable use for a bit. Of course, the first thing to do is wet a line.
Fly fishing during the 1870’s in Blackfoot Country
August 22, 2011In writing a book chapter on changing attitudes toward fish and fishing among the Blackfoot Peoples, as my contribution to a book on fly fishing, conservation, and culture, I came across some interesting passages by James Willard Schultz. Schultz was a trader among the Blackfeet, primarily in Montana, during the late 1800’s. He also guided white fishers and hunters in the region, and wrote extensively about his experiences. In the following paragraphs, he describes fly fishing at Two Medicine Lake, in present-day Glacier National Park on the eastern boundary of the Blackfeet Reservation in Montana.
I had talked about the pleasures of fly fishing. The Indians were anxious to see this, to them, new phase in the white man’s arts. Ashton made the first cast, and his artificial flies were the first that ever lit upon the waters of the Two Medicine [Lake]. The response was generous. The placid water heaved and swirled with the rush of unsophisticated trout, and one big fellow, leaping clear from the depths, took the dropper with him in his descent. The women screamed, “Ah-ha-hai’!” the men exclaimed, clapping hand to mouth, “Strange are the ways of the white men. Their shrewdness has no end; they can do everything.”
The big trout made a good fight, as all good trout should do, and at last came to the surface, floating on its side, exhausted. I slipped the landing net under it and lifted it out, and again there were exclamations of surprise from our audience, with many comments upon the success of it all, the taking of so large a fish with such delicate tackle (James Willard Schultz, My Life as an Indian, 329-330).
No doubt, Schultz overstates the impression he made upon his Blackfoot observers, but the passage is still interesting. It shows that fly fishing made its way to even the farthest reaches of Montana by the late 1870’s, when the incident described by Schultz takes place. According to a Blackfoot informant and fly fishing guide, fly fishing did make enough of an impression — even if not so large a one as Schultz describes — that it was picked up by a few Blackfoot people fairly early, despite the fact that fishing was not a traditional practice among them.
Fly fishing, Fathers, and Children
August 3, 2011Copyright 2011, Kenneth H. Lokensgard
One of the most beloved works in the centuries-old body of fly fishing literature is Norman Maclean’s novella, “A River Runs through It.” It was published as part of A River Runs through It and Other Stories, by the University of Chicago Press in 1976. The well-known opening passage has always resonated with me.
In our family, there was no clear line between religion and flyfishing. We lived at the junction of great trout rivers in western Montana, and our father was a Presbyterian minister and a fly fisherman who tied his own flies and taught others. He told us about Christ’s disciples being fishermen, and we were left to assume, as my brother and I did, that all first-class fishermen on the Sea of Galilee were fly fishermen and that John, the favorite, was a dry-fly fisherman.
I earned a doctoral degree in Religious Studies. And because my scholarly work has involved the religious practices and beliefs of indigenous peoples — practices and beliefs that rarely correspond to those found in Christianity — I have a broad understanding of “religion.” To me, religion is that which, to paraphrase scholar and mentor Charles Long, provides “ultimate orientation.” In other words, religion is that which helps us understand where we come from, where we stand in relation to others, and where we are going. Thus, it provides both identity and meaning. It makes sense for me, then, that Maclean said that religion and fly fishing were essentially one for him and his family members. In fact, not only does it makes sense to me, it also expresses my own feelings about the relationship between religion and fly fishing. Neither I, nor, I think, Maclean would suggest that fly fishing can replace “traditional” religions such as Christianity, Buddhism, Islam, or the practices and beliefs of the indigenous peoples with whom I work. Rather, it simply functions in much the same way that established religions do; it helps many of us find “ultimate orientation.”
Maclean’s book resonates with me for another reason, unrelated to his religious views. Like him and his brother, my two sisters and I are the children of a Presbyterian minister. Moreover, my “home waters” are in the same area in which Maclean learned to fish. That area is The Big Blackfoot River drainage in western Montana.
Just as Norman Maclean did, my father grew up fly fishing with his own brother and father. Unfortunately, his dad was a hard man, who did not make fishing (or much of anything else), enjoyable to his sons. Still, fly fishing was one of the few ways through which my father and his brother could connect to their dad at all.
Our family cabin, on a lake in the Big Blackfoot River drainage.
As an adult, my father always kept fly tackle at our family cabin. And even if he largely left the practice of fly fishing behind, he encouraged it in me. I remember flinging the occasional “Royal Coachman” onto the waters of the lake, near which our cabin stands. And once I grew more interested in fly fishing, he taught me all the requisite knots and passed along the other pieces of fishing knowledge he retained.
My father and I, before fishing.
My uncle left fly fishing behind as well. Sadly, he had an even more difficult relationship with my grandfather than my dad did. There is little doubt in my mind that this difficult, often violent, relationship contributed to my uncle’s debilitating mental illness. When he retired from his life as a professor, though, he did try his hand again at tying flies. And shortly before his death, he gave to me a size 12 “Black Gnat.” It had been his favorite fly, as a child.
My story only resembles Maclean’s in a broad sense — both of our fathers were Presbyterian ministers living in the same area of Montana, and both of us find fly fishing meaningful in the deepest of senses. When it comes to day-to-day family life, however, there is probably a greater resemblance between my father’s and uncle’s lives and those of the Maclean brothers. Unlike my grandfather, the Reverend Maclean treated his sons well and shared his love with them. On the other hand, like Norman Maclean, my father lived a life during which he was always concerned about his brother, until my uncle died from cancer.
A trout I caught, while fly fishing with my father.
Like the Reverend Maclean, and unlike my grandfather, my dad has always been loving and supportive, despite carrying some demons with him. We have occasionally fly fished with each other through the years. Until fishing together this summer, however, I think we let close to ten years pass since our last outing. It was important to me, then, that when one of my sisters called from Missoula a few days ago (as it happens, she attends the Rev. Maclean’s old church there) and said my dad might finally be ready to fish again, that I meet him at the cabin with my gear. My sister was right, as she most often is when it comes to family matters. My father and I had a great time on the lake. Clearly, it brought back a few unpleasant childhood memories for my dad. But it just as clearly meant a lot to him to get out on the water once again with his own son.
My daughter, during her first fly fishing excursion onto the lake.
I recently became a father myself. I have a beautiful little girl. While she is not yet two years old, she, her mom, and I were able to fish a bit on the lake earlier this summer. She saw her dad catch a fish with a fly for the first time, and she loved it the experience. Fishing may never be religious for her, as it was for Maclean and as it is for me. Nonetheless, I trust it will always be a means through which she can connect with her father. I also trust, however, that she will be able to connect with me during every other imaginable activity too. In spite of their love for each other, this was not the case in the Maclean family, and it was certainly not the case for my father, uncle, and grandfather. Thankfully, life is all about change, and my daughter is the very embodiment of change and possibility.
My daughter helping to release the trout her
Fishing in Underground Manhattan
June 29, 2011National Public Radio offers an amusing story, originally related by the New York Times, about a man supposedly catching carp in a stream running beneath his Manhattan basement. The story is worth a quick read.
Scott Fly Rods Video
June 23, 2011I’m sure some readers of this blog are Scott Fly Rods fans, as I am. I particularly like their fiberglass series, the discontinued Fibertouch and the brand new Fibertouch 2. I fish my G2 graphite rod a huge amount as well. (You can find some Scott products on the Sale page, incidentally).
Felt Soul Media, recently worked with Scott to make a short promotion video with the working title of “Scott: Behind the Scenes.” While this video isn’t literature, in the textual sense, it is certainly the manifestation of a type of communicative art.
The Literary Fly Fisher 