Number 187

Where have all the columns gone, long time passing?

Upstairs in the cabin loft lies a small black book, tucked away beneath a narrow shelf. The pages of that book remind me of a time long gone. Back then I had tried to duplicate the writing style of Ray Bergman, who wrote that wonderful book, “Trout.” The words I wrote then now seem to be forced and labored. In 1949 I was too young to realize that imitation is only a pale copy of another’s words. It’s better to sing your own song, even if at times dissonant and off key.

The River Reporter has been printing this very erudite column (ha, if you cannot laugh at yourself, others will do it for you) since the spring of 2000. Early on, I warned readers that they would not learn any new fishing techniques, nor would they discover any new fly patterns that would cause a trout to commit suicide. On occasion I have broken that pledge, hopefully to the benefit of those fly fishers who read the adventures of “The Tangler.”

The writing of a column brings forth a variety of reactions from readers. Both strangers and friends will sometimes call, some to praise, others to correct an error. When I briefly mentioned John McDonald’s book, “Quill Gordon,” a lady called to talk about Mr. McDonald, whom she had known for a long time. That was a most interesting conversation. At the Callicoon Farmers Market a frail, elderly lady approached me and asked if I wrote “that fishing column?” The cowboy hat gave me away. I was pleasantly surprised when she said that though she had never fished, she enjoyed reading my stories.

Last July 9 I penned a column titled “Lost & Found.” This was simply a plea for fly fishers to “pass it on” to the younger generation. To my surprise, this annoyed some readers. One in particular described me to a friend as being pompous and arrogant. “I shot an arrow in the air, it landed I know not where.”

When I sit down to write a column, the words sometimes simply flow off of the tip of my pencil. Other times my mind is a blank; the words will not come. At these times, I remind myself that even Walter Smith, better known as “Red,” one of the greatest sports writers, once wrote: “Writing a column is easy, you just sit at your desk until little drops of blood appear on your forehead.” No, I am not comparing myself to Red Smith. If he were alive today, I would not be allowed to so much as sharpen his pencils. If it would please you to read some rib tickling fishing tales, find a copy of “Views of Sport,” Red Smith, Alfred Knopf, 1954. If you cannot find that book, try for “Red Smith on Fishing,” Doubleday, 1963. The dust jacket is a painting by Milton C. Weiler of a famous pool on the Beaverkill. Can you tell which one? A line from one of Red’s essays always comes to my mind. It is a quote from his son, who at a very young age told his father, “Boy Dad, this is the life isn’t it, fishing and eating in saloons.”

May I plead with you to start the New Year off right? Ed Van Put, longtime employee of the New York State Department of Environmental Conservation, recently underwent a triple bypass operation. It takes a while to recover from such an experience. You need to realize that miles of trout streams, once posted, are now open to public fishing due to Ed’s efforts on our behalf. Here is an opportunity to show your appreciation of that fact. Send along a blizzard of cards urging him to recover and go fishing. The address is 1184 Old Route 17, Livingston Manor, NY 12758. Do it today, not tomorrow!

-Clem Fullerton