43
Fishing is good medicine for lots of ills
Life is not without its ups and downs, so it is fortunate that we find ways to keep things in perspective.
We all have our own ways to cope. Some of them are good, some not so good. When life serves up lemons, some scowl about the sour hand they are dealt. Others reach for the sugar and make lemonade.
Fishing is my lemonade.
Call it an escape, a distraction or a shield. Or call it a salve or a potion. Call it whatever you want, fishing is good medicine for me. Fishing softens the rough spots when life takes an unwelcome twist or turn.
For me in recent years, fishing is not about putting meat on the table. I may take a fish or two home from time to time, but the reality is that I prefer fishing for its therapeutic value.
Fishing helped pull me back into action after a heart attack in 2011. Fishing for a few hours, just me alone on the lake, helped me gain a bit of understanding after my mother passed away. Fishing time and again has been helpful in bringing perspective when life has become complicated.
It worked again this week. Fishing helped me forget for a little while the hole in my soul after Barb’s father passed away. It may also have helped a friend take another step closer to the day when his doctor gives him the “all clear” sign.
A day on the water is an escape, a distraction from concerns that can pile impossibly high if left as our sole focal point.
During our time on the water, my friend and I talked little about our worries. No time for that. Our hours were about fish and habitat, lures and presentations, impressive topwater strikes and bulldogging bass. You know – important stuff.
We spotted a bald eagle in a tree and a deer on the bank. We swapped tales about past fishing adventures and commented on the changing season.
Along the way, we caught a dozen bass between us, including a couple that would make any angler anywhere pretty darn proud.
It all was good. For five hours, it was something other than the loss of a loved one. It was time for cancer to take the back seat so fishing could ride up front, where it belongs.
As all fishing trips do, ours came to an end. I loaded the boat on the trailer and stowed my rods. My friend hopped into his truck, and off we went in our separate directions, back to the other stuff that requires our attention.
But for that brief morning on the lake, we were not mourning and there were no illnesses on our minds.
Just two guys who love fishing, together on a boat with a common mission and nothing but the kind of upside optimism all anglers are known to exude.
Life will toss lemons. But as long as I’ve got fishing tackle and a way to get to the water, I’ve got the sweetest lemonade imaginable.