The Stories We Tell
If you grew up fishing like I did, somewhere there is a picture of you as a child next to or holding one of your first fish. There is a gleeful grin on your face, or maybe a slightly disgusted or concerned look about what the heck this creature is that just came out of the water.
Mine is of a little girl wearing denim overalls. Her round face is screwed up in a no-teeth open-mouthed smile. The rolls of her fingers are spread wide not knowing whether they’re going to grasp or hug. Her hair is a wispy mass of jet black atop her head, and her brown eyes are squinted from her smile. Next to her, held up by some phantom hand that’s only partially in the photo, is a largemouth bass that could swallow her entire head, rosy cheeks and all. It’s my sister. It’s a testament to our childhood: sun-kissed, wind-burned, and joyfully along for the ride.
When we go fishing, this is how I always seek to spend my time: joyfully along for the ride. We don’t always catch fish. We don’t always know if there is fish to be caught. The experience as a whole is what matters.
Tall Tales
Never have I ever encountered such a culture like that surrounding the community of tournament bass fishing. Everyone has something to prove. Everyone has spots. Everyone has a special secret. No one wants to share. – This has probably changed over the years, but this was my experience growing up.
As I have grown in all facets of my life since my first encounters with the fishing community, I’ve come to realize the different perspectives that come with telling tall tales. Sometimes people are protecting their livelihoods by pointing the masses in a different direction. Sometimes people are protecting the environment, and the pristine-ness of a place that is rarely explored. Sometimes people are simply greedy and entitled. Whatever the reason behind telling tall tales about fishing, one thing is usually true: the stories are rooted in a truth about the land and the storyteller. As a storyteller myself, I can only hope that the experiences shared, and narratives told can speak to a truth about the beautiful world we live in and the growth we experience by living.
A Tall Tale
August, 2015
We were married at Twenty Mile House in Quincy, California. He had proposed in December of 2014, on one knee, in the snow, overlooking the south fork of the Boise River in Idaho.
Looking down at his beaming face, holding the ring, and feeling the winter air bite at my tears is a vivid memory I will never forget. I was also TERRIFIED I was going to somehow drop the ring in the snow and never see it again.
Writing my vows, and then reading them to him in front of all of our family and friends, feeling the warmth of the sun and cool of the shaded pines is another clearly defined moment. I was also TERRIFIED that his ring wasn’t going to fit because I had guessed at his size, and he hadn’t seen it or tried it on until I put it on his finger at that exact moment in the ceremony.
August, 2020
Our five year anniversary trip was a surprise. All I knew was that we had three days and four nights, we were going somewhere we had never been before, and there would be an equal amount of fishing, sleeping in a tent, and not sleeping in a tent. I basically knew enough to pack the appropriate clothes. He took care of the rest.
Day 1 – Homer, AK
We stayed in a beautiful Air B&B, explored the little town of Homer, Alaska. Went on a ferry ride to Seldovia. Saw orcas and sea otters. Wandered around the beach. Shopped for souvenirs. Had an amazing dinner of fresh seafood. Packed our backpacking gear for Day 2.
Day 2 – Somewhere in Kachemak Bay State Park
We waved to our water-taxi as he left us to walk to shore with our backpacks and gear. We weren’t the only ones in a 10 mile radius, but we were secluded enough to feel it. That feeling of letting go of something that connects you to a world that is predictable – a world that is not the wilderness. It was terrifyingly exhilarating.
Early August is the middle of the pink salmon run in Alaska, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many fish in one river system. It was astounding to watch schools of fish jostling up the river, flooding the pools, and splashing their way through the ripples. Like a scene out of National Geographic, the fish were fresh, healthy, plentiful, and in gin-clear water. It was breathtaking.
We hiked up the river on the trail to an open spot where the river slowed into a deep pool and then shallowed before running downstream into a small set of ripples and rapids. It was raining, and we were drenched. The fog from the warmth of the water and the cool of the air was surreal, like an early morning on the coast where the dew is so thick it collects in your lungs and on your lashes.
The fish we caught were phenomenal. Beautiful silver, grey, and pink scaled salmon that fought like crazy and still had sea lice clinging to their thick bellies. Our laughter and excitement with these fish reverberated off the water and rock walls, and hung in the air with the fog. It was pouring, but it wasn’t cold. It was perfect.
When we had caught and released our fill of fish, we packed up to leave. I was putting the net in my sling when we saw her. She was a good ways up the river, on the opposite bank from where we were fishing. She had two three-year old cubs with her, flanking her dark cinnamon girth. We didn’t stop our stream of conversation, rather we included her in it. Like greeting a group of suspicious strangers, we made ourselves known.
Body language is important. Especially when it comes to reading and communicating with any living being on this planet. Knowing this, we had our things and began backing away.
From the moment she saw us, there was nothing in her body language that communicated hesitation or uncertainty. We saw her and made ourselves known vocally, and physically began to back away. She saw us, without provocation from us or any hesitation on her part, and began running – at us.
In a matter of seconds, she had covered the gaping space between us from upstream and across the river and locked eye contact. We did the only thing we could do, give her a chance to bluff-charge, to hop-slam, to physically make her presence known and give us the chance to leave. She didn’t. He fired. She stopped after four shots reverberated through the air and over the water. She tucked to her chest, and turned to lumber into the brush on the bank beside us. She charged again in a hop-slam before retreating into the brush. We backed away down the river until we could no longer hear her upstream, and then we ran.
Truth
As a storyteller, I can only hope that the experiences shared, and narratives told can speak to a truth about the beautiful world we live in and the growth we experience by living.
While we can believe that we live in a boundless universe, it is important to recognize that there are things in our world that are finite. Life is. I strongly believe in the importance of recognizing and honoring the finite resources of our world, including the lives of the creatures we inhabit this planet with. It sickens me to think that we took a life we did not intend to take. I am also eternally grateful that we are alive. I believe we were in an extraordinary circumstance, and that we did the best with what we had in that moment in order to survive. In the end, it’s all we can do.
Legacy
Her spirit is in the mist that hums over the surface of the water. We respect her memory in the fish we continue to release back into the waters, in the care we take to leave nothing behind us when we leave her wilderness, and in the steps we take to educate ourselves and others about our natural world.
Disclaimer:
http://www.adfg.alaska.gov/index.cfm?adfg=livingwithbears.main
Yes. This incident was fully documented and reported with the necessary authorities and paperwork, including the Alaska Department of Fish and Game, and local Fish and Wildlife Services.
To learn more about being in bear country, and native history of bears we found the following to be helpful:
Alaska Department of Fish & Game:
http://www.adfg.alaska.gov/index.cfm?adfg=livingwithbears.mainNational Parks Service:
https://www.nps.gov/anch/learn/nature/bear-safety-in-alaska.htmTraditional Animal Foods of Indigenous Peoples of Northern North America:
http://traditionalanimalfoods.org/mammals/bears/Native Languages of the Americas:
http://www.native-languages.org/inuit-legends.htm
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