Fall Back

When I came back to Bethel this fall, I made the decision that I was not going to go fishing for as long as possible.  I simply could not afford it - I knew I would be taking eighteen credits (including two labs, one of which is chemistry), in addition to other responsibilities like D group, COW and mentoring.  

As it turned out, I didn't have to make that decision consciously.  I was way too busy to even have time to think about fishing.  My daily routine consisted of dragging myself out of bed at 6:30, going to class, doing homework until dinner, eating dinner, going to whatever event I had that night, and doing more homework afterwards in bed for my six hours of sleep before getting up at 6:30 again.  The weekends had some respite; I could usually fit in one or two events with friends on Friday or Saturday nights.  But fishing was not and remains not a priority.  

Which is fine, right? Fishing is a hobby for people with free time... right?  It's something that I can't afford right now.  So I made the decision and stashed my fly rod out of sight on top of my wardrobe.  

They say that when drug addicts relapse, it starts with something small which then tips the avalanche, to come flooding down the mountain like an oncoming storm.  Two things triggered my relapse.

The first was when I went up north with Michael, Jonathon and Elijah over fall break.  I brought my fly rod and got up one morning to hit the Baptism river for trout.  I wasn't really expecting to catch anything, but the river was there; this is what I do.  

And I didn't catch anything.  But that isn't really how it works.  If fishing was measured on material success, I would have given up years ago.  The early morning river in the fall air, winding through those basalt cliffs cloaked in the taiga of northern Minnesota - well, who wouldn't want to spend the rest of their life there?

When the salmon rose behind my woolly bugger my heart almost burst.  It left a nice wake, following for several yards before turning away in wise disgust.  And I knew then that I could not simply leave my fly rod on top of my wardrobe for the rest of the semester. 

The second thing that triggered my relapse was a girl.

Not a girl that I know very well.  But we were both sitting with a mutual friend, and she stayed after our mutual friend left and we talked for a while and eventually we got around to her involvement in the school swing dance club.  

As soon as I started asking her questions about it, it became very apparent where her passions lie.  I live for that moment - when a person tells you what they enjoy and you don't merely acknowledge it, you inquire - you show that yes, you care about what they care about, and you want to know more.  There is something about a person sharing a genuine passion that I love.

And she leaned forward with her blond hair framing her face and she proceeded to tell me all about swing dancing and why she was in love with it, as her eyes lit up and her voice got faster.  And I saw how people must see me when I talk about fly fishing - nerdy, obsessed, but oh so passionate.  

I did two things because of that talk with her.  The first was that I got up early that same week before class and picked up my fly rod and walked down to the dock.  And the second cast I hooked into a small pike, thrashing in the dirty cold fall water.  

And the second thing I did was that I went swing dancing on that Tuesday night.