So Long, 2020!

IF YOU STACKED each and every year in human history that stands out as an unmitigated train wreck of weirdness, despair and frustration, 2020 might be atop the heap.

So long, 2020, and don’t let the door hit you in the backside on the way out!

Then again, as the saying goes, all dark clouds have silver linings. In Texas, thank goodness, we never have to look far for them.

One of the most interesting phenomena of 2020 was spawning an unprecedented interest in fishing. Beginning in mid-March—perfect timing, some would say. People were told to stay home from work, from school, from everything they’d become accustomed to.

Hmm.

“Working” from home, half days of online study. No movies. No concerts. No gatherings. No parties. No. No. No. No.

What about fishing? Oh, yeah, you can do that. And oh, yeah, we did. Experienced fishermen were on the water in a blink. Newcomers bought tackle and got out as soon as they could.

Anyone who was on the water in April and May will attest to the rush of boat traffic at every open ramp in the state. No matter—clear or cloudy, wet or dry, seven days of every week.

When some counties closed their boat ramps, for whatever flimsy reasons they cooked up, we found walk-in access to the bays and lakes. When some counties closed their beaches and state parks to any more than foot traffic, we strapped on backpacks, shouldered rods and walked ourselves to the fish.

One hurdle after another, all under the guise of protecting us from each other, and a virus that continued to grab people, was laid before fishermen.

We kept fishing, because it gave us peace. It brought us comfort—and the occasional tasty fillet.

How much more or better could Texans be socially distanced than when they fished? When was the last time you saw two wade fishermen standing fewer than six feet from each other?

For each challenge presented to fishermen, each attempt to keep us off the water for our own good, we found a workaround. No saltwater fishing? cool. I’ve got bass spots. Close down the park where I like to catch bass? I’ll fish a neighborhood pond, for catfish, or perch.

Or, as my son caught at a golf-course lake in late August, a big grinnel, on a crankbait no less.

My summer of pandemic-related rules and restrictions actually resulted in considerably more outdoor activity than usual. Working from the den, I didn’t have to endure the time or tension of freeway traffic between office and home.

At the end of my professional day, when show prep was done and I’d visited with a client or two, I’d just walk to the next room and ask my son whether he’d like to fish out the remaining time before dusk.

It’s been vitally important throughout the pandemic for most of us who are passionate about the outdoors to maintain that connection. Physically, the vitamin D provided by sunlight has helped boost our immune systems. Sunshine or clouds, the simple state of being outdoors, anywhere, has done us all a world of emotional good.

Among so many other things, the pandemic of 2020 generated a ton of worldwide depression. Some untold number of people never were connected to the outdoors, not as kids or adults. They found themselves with nothing of substance to occupy the extra hours they had to fill daily. That went badly in many cases.

Make no mistake. Men and women and kids suffered from the absence of familiar structure that lockdown orders heaped upon the entire world. The lucky ones—and I do believe this—were those who already knew the values of outdoor recreation, those who already knew where to turn.

Back to one of those little dark clouds, briefly. It’s been nearly impossible to find some of my favorite lures. Or rods and reels, for that matter, or dip nets or anything else a fisherman might want or need.

Let’s not overlook ammo shortages. The nation’s fear of violence sparked another rush on gun stores, and smart people don’t buy guns without buying ammo. In September, as dove season opened, you could still find bird loads, but you’d have been hard pressed to score enough pistol ammo to load more than a single magazine.

All this because of 2020, a year that opened on a virus previously unknown to man. It was a virus so new there was no cure, so new there wasn’t even a proven way to relieve its symptoms while bodies fought to regain health.

In recollection someday, we’ll blame 2020 for the mess. We’ll blame a number, because doing so is a lot easier than searching out the real causes of a world turned suddenly upside down.

Instead of letting 2020’s negatives taint our souls, maybe we should see those silver linings. Maybe we should be thankful that so many people found their way this year to outdoor recreation. Maybe they will stick with fishing and hunting and camping and hiking for years to come.

The plus side of 2020 is its timely infusion of new interest in wildlife and fisheries. The more people who care about our natural resources, the better.

On second thought—thanks, 2020.

 

Email Doug Pike at ContactUs@fishgame.com

 

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