Cool Down and Be Thankful

AT THIS WRITING, first week of April, there are jurisdictions in Texas where fishing is prohibited.

Mostly, these boat-ramp barricades and no-cast zones were enacted by smaller communities and towns across the state, especially along the coast, as a means of discouraging visits by people from larger cities where there were more cases of the coronavirus. Honestly, who could blame them?

I was a little surprised that fishermen who called those quiet places “home” complained most loudly. By gosh, they didn’t want anyone telling them not to fish, and more than a few of them ignored the regulations.

Well, I didn’t want stop chasing trout, either, especially with fishing so good as these words were finding the page. I wanted to fish, too, but not at the risk of my life or anyone else’s life.

To endure a time of no fishing, whether it ended a week after I submitted this column or continues even as you read this page, is tough on any of us who truly are passionate for the water and its resources.

Rather than become bitter about what we can’t do, cliché as it may sound, how about being thankful for what we have? We’re still in Texas, and we still have some of the finest freshwater and saltwater fishing in the world.

That some places were off limits for a period of time is hardly cause for so much grousing as I saw and heard. Comparatively, most of the world has never had a single day of fishing on par with what we routinely experience.

The nerve of COVID-19 to strike right as the surf temperature climbed above 70 degrees and the bass were on beds and the bays were coughing up giant trout and “gianter” reds!

Instead of seeing the shutdowns as over-restrictive impositions, how about maybe we look at it as Nature hitting its “Pause” button. We pause, for weeks or maybe even months, and we return to lakes and bays and a beachfront that never in my lifetime have had such a chance to heal themselves.

We pause also to rekindle familial relationships, to oil our reels, sharpen our hooks and address chores that should have been addressed years ago. And we pause to familiarize ourselves with what’s truly important.

Many of us look at fishing, and hunting—and for the sake of discussion—as some sort of right. But as the COVID-19 pandemic worsened, we found out we were wrong. Outdoor recreation is a privilege, one we shouldn’t take lightly.

The health of our nation, our state and our communities—our people—took priority as this year unfolded, even if it meant giving up something we loved for a while. Worse, we endured regular notices that the closures would continue for a little longer—and a little longer.

But accept the rules we did, some of us more than others. Most anglers, with varying attitudes about doing so, followed the guidelines. I appreciated those who understood and accepted the changes, and I was disappointed in those who thumbed their noses at efforts to get us more quickly back to safety.

Capt. Scott Null, who shut down his guiding as ordered by our governor and lost considerable revenue for doing so, explained it this way.

“It’s like staying on the water when you know the weather’s about to get really bad,” he said. “Most of the time, nothing happens. But if something goes wrong…”

That something could have been (and likely was, somewhere) the unknown transmission of a dangerous virus from passenger to guide or guide to passenger, who then brought it home and unknowingly shared it with a neighbor, who took it to the grocery store, and…

A 95-year-old grandmother, when asked about COVID-19, said it was nothing compared to her experiences during the Great Depression. That period of despair and hopelessness persisted for more than a decade. Since then, we’ve pressed through years-long wars and terrorism and other things that easily could have crippled weaker nations, weaker people. And we grew stronger from each of those dreadful experiences.

Interestingly, however, through all those trials, we never were asked to give up outdoor recreation—unless you count being drafted and sent to war, which counts double as having to give up outdoor recreation. As a nation, though, here at home, people who had the time and inclination still could step away from the ugliness and wet a hook.

Sounds a little simplistic, I know, but it highlights the gravity of the threat this virus posed (poses) to our nation.

As we crawl out of the hole and into the light, whenever that is (and hopefully we’re already started up that path), let’s do a couple of things differently.

Start by showing greater appreciation. For everything. Whether you catch anything or not, next time you fish, be grateful the ramp was open, the bait camp had minnows or live shrimp.

Whatever you see and feel and hear and smell that day. Be thankful for it. Remind yourself that in the blink of an eye, what we love can be taken away.

Same as it was for so many thousands of families right here in the United States. In a relative blink, they saw loved ones die, and their suffering far outweighs that from being told to put down a fishing rod for a while.

 

Email Doug Pike at ContactUs@fishgame.com

 

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