Why No Officer, That’s Not A Weapon in the Truck Bed
Several months ago, sometime during the millennium that we resided in Birmingham, I pulled my truck into the gas pump line just seconds ahead of a father and son in their spotless Range Rover (the preferred luxury vehicle of the region).
The kid was 9 or 10 and appeared absolutely absorbed in his iPhone; Dad was wearing the requisite area uniform – dress khakis, tasseled ‘lawyer’ leather shoes with matching belt (of course), topped by a starched button-down purple dress shirt.
While tending the pump, I heard an urgent call of “Dad! Dad! Look at that truck! Dad! Dad!” I turned to see Junior agitatedly pointing and loudly announce that I had “a huge spear” in my truck bed.
Given our experiences in the region, I actually glanced into the bed to make sure there wasn’t actually a spear on board.
No spear. Just an old wooden-handled garden hoe, rusted and beat to hell.
I couldn’t help myself and burst out laughing. This drew Dad’s best attempt at a withering glare which prompted another giggle on my part, leading to a “back off buddy” comment from Dad.
He then turned to his son and explained that the implement in my truck was in fact a garden hoe, something that “some people” used to “tend their gardens, cutting weeds and all.” Junior listened and asked with an incredulous tone “you mean they do that with their hands?,” before Dad, my spear, and the rest of the world were muscled to the back burner by an incoming text.
Several months and a couple of thousand miles later, I finally pulled that spear hoe out of the truck bed yesterday. The events above flashed back with Junior’s skeptical “they do that with their hands?”query playing over and over again in my head.
Texting Thumb is Not a Sports Injury
While the question “how in the hell could a 10 year old not know what a garden hoe was?” still seems pertinent, it’s much more telling that Junior (and much of society) couldn’t (can’t) imagine doing much of anything besides handling electronic gear with their hands these days.
In what now seems to be a pretty damned quick decade (give or take a few years) we’ve gone from hand-eye coordination being something that was derived and demonstrated by practice and prowess with a ball, paddle, racquet, court, paintbrush, tool or even fly rod to how quickly one can text, thumb pictures, or play games on a smartphone.
It’s Fly Fishers Who Are Genuinely In Touch with Reality These Days
Well, I for one am damned glad that fly fishing is very much a ‘hands on’ endeavor.
For those who really fly fish (by that I mean those who go beyond sitting on their ass in a guide boat while he or she guide rigs your gear, tells you where to cast, opens your beers, handles your fish and butters your biscuits), the world of fly fishing is amazing tangible.
Show a fly fisher a new reel or other piece of gear and watch their first reaction. They’ll reach for it almost every time; they want to hold it, touch it, spin it, take it apart, wiggle it and jiggle it. Stand in a real shop and watch if you don’t believe me.
Follow your buddies on the walk to the river next time you’re out. Somebody in the group will reach out and touch the pine needles on the passing branch, the now drying bankside grass blowing in the breeze or pick up that featured pebble they just toed out of the gravel run.
Fly tiers may be the worst of all – they’re forever touching, crinkling, rubbing, splaying, brushing, or stroking one material or another. Building a fly from a naked hook is almost as much about touch as it is sight.
Same goes for building a rod, something every fisher should do at some point. Digging through bins of components, reaming and sanding cork, stacking a reel seat and getting it to fit just so, laying wraps like a pro, finding the spline (or spine if you prefer) of your rod – these are damned tactile endeavors. (Kudos to Swift Fly Fishing for putting together ready to wrap kits for their Epic series rods – see them here – though we think everyone should build a rod ‘from scratch’ at some point.)
Spend a day on the water and you’re bound to get your hands dirty. Scrape a knuckle or two and get some fish slime on your hands. Skip some rocks and feel the pull of the oars. And please take the Junior in your life along for the ride.
