Always the Water

BY THE TIME this hits print, the clock will have struck 12:01 a.m. on January 1, 2021. I’m certain every Texan, every American, every citizen of the world, will breathe a collective sight of relief and drink a toast to the end of an ordeal, and the hope of a new beginning.

It is no hyperbole if you say that 2020 was certainly one of the worst years, if not the worst year, ever. The pandemic was bad enough, but an overly active hurricane season, wildfires, the most vitriolic of presidential elections, protest, riots, counter protests, and feudal-style murders laced the entire year without respite. We are exhausted, shaken, heartsick, and unsteady. Many are financially unstable. There are suddenly empty chairs around the dinner table, freshly planted headstones, and there are others physically and emotionally devastated.

For me, the worst part was the isolation. There was a three month stretch that state and county boat ramps and parks were closed. Chains blocked the boat ramp openings to ensure no one tried to flout the closure. I could only sit at home and look at the room where I keep my fishing tackle. I had a boat in my driveway, and there it stayed.

It isn’t about the fishing. It’s about the water. I’m older now, and I like to think, wiser. I have learned that the fish are secondary to being on the curative powers of the water. Laguna Madre embraces me and helps me heal. She helps me breathe; she helps me think. Cloudy and muddy thoughts settle, become clearer. My soul, weary from constant broadsides by a life purposefully lived, regains its equilibrium, and balance returns.

It’s always the water.

I’m aware that I’m not the only weary traveler who seeks the spiritual medicine of the water. I’m not alone out there. There are many of us out there, waving a rod over the waters—Moses’s staff striking the rock to find the hidden, lifesaving secrets beneath the strike. If a fish should grab our offering, it’s a pleasant bonus. If they don’t, that’s fine too.

It’s always the water.

Being out there tends to bring out the best in most of us. We stop to help other anglers who have encountered engine trouble It is an unwritten code that we never leave another angler in distress. It could be someone we don’t like, but we will help. We become living examples of Matthew 25:40:

“Whatsoever you do to the least of my people, that you do unto to me.”

It’s always the water.

There is weight in Matthew 25:40 for anglers. It was originally taught to some fishermen who chose their teacher, their rabbi for his gentleness and unconditional love. He was divine, but he was also very wise. He knew that he could only teach and advise. He couldn’t give orders, even though they would follow anything he said. But these were fishermen, and there is one truism:

It’s always the water.

We humans are a willful lot, especially Americans, and most especially Texans. We bristle at orders and directions that seem anathema to our proudly claimed liberty. We are the coiled snake on the flag. We dare you to come and try to take our cannon. You may be bigger, stronger, and better, but we will square up to you, stick our jaw out, and challenge you.

However, not everything needs to be a confrontation. There are times, as with the stranded fisherman, a hand up is more apropos than a clenched fist. Is it really so difficult to extend that value to dry land?

True, there are those with whom we don’t agree. Some of those opinions can be irreconcilable. It takes courage and wisdom to look beyond divergent ideals and see the person behind the ideas. Then again, we do that with family, sometimes more often than every Thanksgiving and Christmas. We manage to not only live with these different opinions; we manage to love their owners.

This is a vast fabulous world, full of a vast and fabulous array of people. If we simply began to bring Matthew 25:40 ashore and make it part of our daily lives, it will make life more bearable in its worst times. It won’t be easier, just more bearable. When we need to heal, we can go fishing.

It’s always the water.

Editor’s Note: As announced in the Inside Fish & Game Column on page 2, Cal Gonzales has passed away. His death came not long after the submission deadline for this issue. His loss saddens us greatly, and we, along with his large audience of readers will miss the lively prose that Cal regularly penned for this space.

 

Email Cal Gonzales at ContactUs@fishgame.com

 

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