Saturday, October 15, 2011

Boys and Girls, Fly Fishing is not a Sport; it's a Ballet

As a former high school star baseball player in Flint, Michigan in the last century, I learned the importance of shifting one's weight back to front to generate rhythm and power in my swing in the batter's box.

The balls of my feet proved invaluable.  Later, I learned from a girl friend who was accomplished in ballet that her grace and body control was not just beautiful but, indeed, (by biased observation) was better than the rhythm of Boston's famed Ted Williams.

Accomplished athletes and ballerinas have in common a cliche' of "playing within yourself."  Restated: don't get distracted by the prize, enjoy the subtle focus on the process.

At this writing, I just returned from six days of fly fishing and camping alone at the beautiful Martha's Vineyard --it was a Zen experience -- not a cloud in the sky, and each night a full-moon light streaked my camp-site like a prism created by nature's tall trees.  I was even graced one special night by large tracks of a single deer who had been silently standing outside my meager tent while I securely slept.

Night fishing:  it's like talking to God.

No past, no future, just me, alone, enjoying the moon over high tide.  My fly flew forward and back, forward and back, lengthening in distance from the power of my 12 wt. rod and a special fly designed by Lefty Krech and Bob Clouser (half and half) and made by Bob's people or perhaps Bob himself.  It doesn't get any better than this, and it didn't -- no fish.

Life is about living, not getting.  In fact, giving may be better than getting -- you decide.




Fly fishing is a ballet, not a sport.

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