I speculate on the theory of trout often, and wonder what they make of the chaos above the surface. Do they know of what is to come? Surely not, for they only know what is directly ahead. They know nothing more than the constant flow of the water, and the course of the river headed to hallowed ground. Or maybe it is more than an “unknowing”; an acceptance.
That is something to learn from the time on the river; when you set foot here, where the water meets the bank and the only road lain is the one you make yourself, there is no room for worry. I consider it to be a place of consistency- stationary yet ever running. I’m compelled to consider the calm of running water, how when a trout treads the current, he is still. I envy them. I come here to learn their ways, to be in the presence of waters capable of change in any magnitude and simply exist in the company of the trout. And every now and then, when one happens to find its way to my line, I learn something.
It was a long day spent in too much worldly chaos; everyone had something to say, something they needed from me. I craved some tranquility, some sense of steadiness. So, I found myself at the river. I had been to this particular spot several times before, but I wanted to come alone that day. I wanted to prove something- whether to someone else or myself I still couldn’t say for sure. But what I sought I knew I could find there, and I felt the day lift once I neared the bank.
I like to watch running water and marvel at how she caresses each stone, each trout like a long-lost friend. And today, she was holding me. I flung a line in her direction and watched her carry my worm down the current. I walked the bank for several minutes, throwing a cast every so often to see what teachings the trout could have for me. But none came. I lost several worms, and moved on from hole to hole until I found one that captivated me like none had done before. This spot in particular was easily accessed from the bank- the water came right up to the edge and one could walk upstream to a deeper hole that rounded the corner. I took my pole and waded up to my ankles, readjusting my stature and disturbing the sediment that was sent downstream with the worms I lost. I cast, and the line disappeared. The line travelled, steadily bobbing along the opposite bank while I watched. I remember feeling so much closer to the trout, standing there in water. It was the closest I could be to their theory- one is only still when she treads the current.
My line stalled where it shouldn’t have, and I waited to see if there was a catch in the current or if a trout had taken my worm. Sure enough, the line trembled with the presence of a trout. I set the line and the river came alive with his animations. There are few things that fill one’s soul like that of a fish fighting on the line of your pole. It was a brown, native to the river that ran here. His belly flashed from beneath the surface, showing mature, developed spotting.
I managed to pull him in and simply could not believe to what magnitude this section of the river had rewarded my patience. The trout that had graced my line was what I consider to be the most regal and beautiful fish I had ever landed. His conformation was strong, his coloration pristine and untouched. I held him in my hands, still submerged in the water. His tail pumped against the current, his muscles flexing against my palm. We were still, he and I, treading the water together.
I fought many emotions in that short period of time we shared in that hole- I quarreled with the solidarity most of all. This is exactly what I came for, yet I was saddened to have shared in it alone. I was almost afraid to return the brown to the water, suddenly aware of my loneliness. Selfishly I wanted to hold onto him forever, to take him home somehow and show everyone what I had accomplished, and what I had learned.
But that is not what the river wished to teach me that day. This native brown, who has lived in solitude his whole life, only wished to show me that there is truth to stillness in running water. The current never stops, and neither does the noise above the surface. Yet even so, she still carries those she loves- the trout to their unspoken hidey holes and the worms of lost fisherman towards the mouths of those yet to teach. The trout know who they are, and do not worry about making that point to others. They simply follow the river.
I shared what was probably a total of ten minutes with that brown, yet as I watched him swim back into the depths of the river, beyond where any line could reach, I felt a lifetime pass. My line broke not long after, and I took that as my final teaching for the day.