Snagmaster

Aug 27, 2024

Martin with a rare walleye caught on the Lac Du Flambeau, 1990.

I was never that good at fishing and still am not today.  It seems that for every fish I caught, I spent countless hours untangling twisted and knotted lines, trying to coax lures that were snared in the tree behind me and reeling in my hook to find the bait had been taken a half hour earlier.   

My friends called me “Snag Master” and the joke was that pilots in planes flying over the pond we fished near Richmond; Illinois would see all the trees sparkling with the lures that I had lost over the years.   

Yes, I was and still am bad at fishing. 

Yet, I keep doing it.

The reason for me was partly my dad.  He was always working and the rare times he wasn’t working, we would go fishing.  Out on the Buffalo River in Wyoming or up in Lac Du Flambeau in Wisconsin.   His favorite fish was the walleye, which he called the “chicken of the sea.”  My dad had a knack for catching fish.  Walleyes are notorious for just lightly nibbling bait.  It is the slightest sensation that means you have to jerk the line to set the hook.  My dad had mastered this in his youth and his skills never left him.  He would sit quietly in the boat and pretty soon he would whisper “I got one.”   We would scramble to reel in our lures and get a net, for pretty soon a good size walleye would appear at the end of his line.  Out in Wyoming it was wild rainbow trout and again my dad would be able to catch them again and again.   Rainbows are beautiful fish, and a good-sized trout makes an exceptional dinner.  

I tried to match his skills, sitting patiently and waiting for the right sign to set the hook.  In some ways, it resembled my life, I thought.  Waiting for the right sign to set the hook.  In later years, fishing with dad, I thought about my career as a musician and wondered if I waited too long or not long enough.  Did I set the hook right?  Such thinking messes up concentration on fishing, and I always felt that when I did catch fish, I wasn’t thinking of it being a metaphor for my life. 

I’ve had friends who were professional sport fishermen.  One friend took me down to a lake near Olney, Illinois.  It was 90 degrees without a cloud in the sky.  A horrible day for fishing.  That didn’t deter him.  We would approach the shoreline with our bass lures, and he would flog the water fifteen times, casting in various directions and exhorting me to do the same.  If after the fifteenth time nothing bit, we would zoom to another part of the lake.  We proceeded to do this for six hours. It was exhausting, but we caught fish.  He taught me that I have to be persistent in life to catch something.  I am flogging my way through life, I thought, as I fished with him.  This persistence felt so familiar, so tiring as well.  This was another side of fishing, not giving up despite every indication you should.  We caught more than our limit of bass on a day when no one was catching them. Yet I probably would never fish that way again. 

The other side of fishing was sitting in a boat and catching nothing.  There is a sort of Zen that can descend when you abandon your expectations, drifting aimlessly. No expectations mean no disappointment. But that sort of thing is illusory. It isn't fishing and yet, there is a feeling of defying the whole reason of fishing in the first place. Not catching fish but enjoying the world is another metaphor for those who don't believe we all have a calling in life. It seems right but you catch no fish.

I have also prayed a lot to God to help me land at least a carp.  Praying to God to catch a fish seems like a ludicrous thing to do in a world of war, starvation and bad politicians.  God has much bigger fish to fry. I feel the same way asking for such guidance with my career, my music and art and balancing that with my duties as father and husband.  It is also tiring and difficult.  Yet, I sit in this boat and have to abandon my desire for the results I want.  I’ve done everything I can do to land a fish.  I don’t have my father’s skills.  I don’t have the luck of a born fisherman.  I can flog away at catching fish and am willing to do that as I have done.  I sit in the boat and wait.  And yes, I still pray to God to help me catch a fish.   My wish is that somehow in my fishing expedition that has been my career and life path, that day will come when that little nibble arrives.  I hope I can feel it, set the hook and whisper, “I got one.”

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