The Peak of Inspiration

I think there are a thousand life lessons being illustrated in front of our eyes at any given moment.  And, as I was sitting by a lake the other day, one of them became obvious to me.  I didn’t like everything that was being taught by this one.  So maybe this isn’t written to you as much as it is written about me. 

Spend any amount of time in the fishing world and you’ve probably been asked the question, “are you a fisherman or a catcherman”?  Even if you haven’t been asked, its very likely that you can instantly understand the thought that motivates this question.  What is it that makes fishing worth it to you? 

On the surface, fishing is a very expensive pastime.  If you think about what all you are sacrificing, the pleasure will be sucked right out of the experience.  Time, mileage, license, bait, lures, lunches, it all starts to add up.  Per pound of meat harvested it can be a little shocking.  And if you are trying to justify all the expenses to someone that doesn’t understand the sport, stop. Because you can’t.   But regardless of all the cost, regardless of the thousands of times the line is cast without a bite, it remains a sport that is enjoyed by millions.  Watch a four-year-old reel in his first fish, and it’s not hard to understand why.  The tug on the end of the line is addictive.  The fact that you just threw a very thin line into a deep pool of water, having made a wild guess at what kind of lure might be the right kind, and then, somewhere in that sea of blue, something starts pulling on that line, well, that’s just intoxicating. 

Observe the crowd at any fishing lake and it isn’t difficult to discern the fishers from the catchers.  Let me make this clear right now.  The fishers and catchers both enjoy catching fish.  That is universal. 

A good majority of the fishers have families around them.  Some of them are retired.  Elderly.  Lawn chairs and sun hats.  Many are dads with real jobs.  Parents that have one goal for the day, to spend time with the young ones while they still are.  You’ll find the fishers in the easy-to-get-to spots.  Close to the dock.  Right by the road.  That’s because of who is with them.  Fishers are almost never alone. That would defeat the purpose.  The fishers are the ones whose own poles are leaning against the chair while they help the next generation figure out the casting motion.  Fishers believe in investment.  Long-term. 

If you are a child, it’s easy to love a fisher.  They’ll let you try a lure from their box.  They’ll give you bait, or help you look for worms.  And, maybe most importantly, they will let you throw rocks in the lake, right beside where they are fishing.  They put your interests ahead of their own.  Because at the end of the day, the most important thing is not how many fish you take home, or how big they are.  In fact, that is the least important, something hardly worth mentioning.  Fishers take home more than expensive fish.  They take home memories.  Pictures in their minds of smiles and rock skipping competitions.  Pictures of a child slumped over in the back seat, exhausted from a day of sun and adventure. 

Catchers, on the other hand, are a results-focused crowd.  They believe in investment too.  Quick returns.  They want to see the payout.  The sooner the better.  No distractions.  A limit caught in thirty minutes is twice as good as that same limit caught in an hour.  Catchers are committed to the task with a single-minded focus.  Their equipment is specific to the task.  Everything from their foot gear to their fishing hat.  These are the ones with the fish finders.  They target the richest spot to improve their chances.  They record data, follow moon phases, order in the best lures.  They can’t tolerate distractions.  For them, fishing is not a hobby, it’s a competition.

I’ve known many people with a “fisher’s mindset” to life.  I’ve known some of the catcher kind as well.  Doesn’t take me long to decide who I prefer, or what kind I want to be.  So many days I look for the results.  Something that proves that all this expense is returning a profit.  A visible result that I can touch and feel.  Something I can number and weigh.  I look for ways to maximize my returns.  Find the spots that yield the most and the biggest.  Search for that piece of equipment, that revolutionary product that gives me the edge on the competition.  Trying to get “ahead”, whatever that means, and if I’m ahead, to stay there.  Eliminating distractions so I can focus on my task. 

I need reminding that it’s ok to just… fish.  To spend the money, give everything I own, to this adventure, and not expect a large return. To understand that the size of the catch is not what matters.  To set my tackle aside, pick up rock, throw it in the water, and then do it again.  Boys need help with that, too.  I need reminding that a bigger boat with a better fish finder doesn’t hold the key to success.  I need grace to not covet the fishing hole my friend has found, and to be content with my little section of the bank, even though it’s close to the road and overfished.  It doesn’t have much.  It doesn’t need much.  If I’m there, it has what my family needs.  And the things given there, the time invested, is well spent. 

And if, at the end of the day, all you take home is a couple of small, bony fish and a sunburn, remember.  Remember that miracles happen when there isn’t much to work with.  Remember that some investments have long term returns.  But don’t close your eyes to the immediate blessings.   Just look in the rearview.  At the back seat.  At the little boy wrapped in sweat and exhaustion.  Gives you a warm feeling, doesn’t it?  It’s a little cash reward for everything you spent.  And you can take that to the bank…