In the lives of some individuals comes an epiphany, a time when they realize with certainty that they excel at something. This moment, to a certain extent, defines them. I have been many things in my life, but one thing I have always been is a fisherman…
I cannot repeat that old lie, “I remember it like it was yesterday” because though I recall the day, I see it in broken fragments, hazy through the passage of time and blurred by the wavy distortion of summer heat. The beach was sandy, and the aluminum Jon boat made a familiar sound as my father launched it. The lake was choked with lily pads, and the water was tannin-stained like so many in South Jersey. The dipping oars and creaking locks were a familiar song already to my young ears, but the long glass rod laying the length of our 9-foot car topper was an implement of mystery. I’d seen it only in the backyard, during some ritualistic casting lessons that seemed altogether abstracted from the practice of fishing, something I held holy even in my early youth. Attached to the leader was a small popper made of cork and painted yellow. It had feathers and a few rubber legs, but it looked more like some Carnival headdress than a tantalizing treat that would help me to land the elusive bluegills that, during those days, held masterdom over my dreams.
The details and the individual fish are lost to me now, but I can see the stump fields and the lily pads and the boils that surrounded that little piece of cork. I can remember a mixed stringer of sunfish, perch, and small bass that made me feel like I had discovered some mystic relic of intense power. Little did I know just how powerful that wand would become as I grew up and evolved slowly but with focused intent into a hunter.
That fly rod has taken me many places, and it has opened many doors. It has guided me, and comforted me, and given me something to cling to when no crunch was at hand. Its dance is rhythmic, its pulse alive, and every cast brings me closer to a perfection of sorts. Yes, I have always been a fisherman, a seeker. I have always been reaching, and chasing, and hoping that around the next bend lie the shadow of some new, more satisfying truth. To hold it, and know it, to love it and feel it slide back into the world for the next seeker to find, is my peace. It’s the never-ending quest and represents all that I have tried to share with my students over the past seven years. Few people get the chance to see their dreams come true. I leave here with hope and excitement, with fear and trepidation. I leave a stronger man and more focused seeker because of the students I’ve known. Thank you and farewell.
Jonathan Lancaster
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