Stirring awake one hot June morning, after passing hours of the
night atop a tidal riverbank, auditioning molded rubber lures for any furtive
fins stalking within a convection of current sweeping under my feet, I rolled
over to scribble a few sentences onto a small fold of paper I was using as a
bookmark to a bedside read. I knew if I didn’t, the dreamlike thoughts
could escape the moment. So I jotted to print certain particulars of the
previous outing, although not those quantitative details that typify a trip log
- moon, tide, temperatures, wind, weather, surf condition and height,
bait presence, et al. All I noted were a few number
of otherwise hazy phrases that loosely illustrated how pleasant this one outing
spent under an open night sky made me feel. The
seventy-degree air temperature, the gentle southeast breeze, and the peace
of solitude I experienced in having quietly existed for some hours
within the trustful surrounds of Nature, all while doing nothing greater than
simply observing, listening, breathing... and fishing.
Only revealed in
rearview from the advancing chariot of time could I ever know how those few
written reflections were to benefit as the creative-kindling,
as embers of words awaiting to someday ignite what would become a conflagration
of keyboard composition consuming page after blank page of ever-amended and
lengthened, word-processed revisions and subsequent final drafts. To that
effort, I humbly embraced the act of writing as a means of creatively
expressing my imagination, this newly-directed, gratifying personal obligation,
or otherwise experimental endeavor of mine, to express in the form of a short
narrative that of my fondness for a most-special fishing locale, chronicling
how one particular evening spent fishing from there seemed to wed and weave in
my mind the many memories of exceptional and bountiful catches raised by net
over the years and seasons, further recounting many of the social elements
realized of gathering there, whether impromptu or planned, of friendships nurtured,
laughter erupted, or uncommon confessions spilled. Those esteemed
expectations wrought of vivid anticipations, the fish, as star-lit
solitude allowed one's own mind to be released in free-thought. From this, The Pulse of Existence was
born. My memoir that exposed this angler's deep reverence for the Striped
Bass, from the perspective of pursuit, striking fight, landing, and release of
a fine specimen. I printed a hard copy. It circulated between a few
hands, yet nearly a year-and-a-half passed before I considered targeting an
appropriate, or rather, appreciative audience by authoring a blog, and hurdling
any hesitation of sharing such elaborate fishing-writing, publicly.
My first post went live
on May 26th, 2015. Truth be told, it felt good!
Soon after, a second story jumped alive to page, then a third assembled from
prospering paragraphs, and then dozens of other experiences and perspectives
unexpectedly came to be titled as published posts. Apparently, I had
something I felt I could share, about surfcasting the sandy beaches and
rock-piles (both, tragically, as we knew them) of central New
Jersey. I enjoyed channeling this outlet of writing, at times, at-length,
over a single inspiring feeling I may have experienced as a result of being
outdoors, angling, often as it relates to our fishery's very nucleus of
affliction and locus of addiction, our splendid swimmer - Morone
saxatilis.
I never expected mass
appeal. My style has proven to be quite wordy, sinuous and considerably tedious
to follow at times, is often lofty of expression, is habitually guilty of
run-on sentences, excessive comma and hyphen usage, and clearly abuses (purposefully)
the form wax-poetic! My only intention, and single hope however, remains
the very same as it was five-years earlier - to encourage some small
degree of relatable satisfaction to the readership of a fisher who sacrifices
their time visiting. That one may enjoy setting their hook into
browsing and reading, imagining what they too agree to be the
storied words mirrored of their own similar experience, salty circumstance, or
register of opinion.
Thank-you, for being a visitor, and reader!
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| Celebrating Five Years of writing inspiration favored from the many memorable experiences surfcasting has served to "littorally" enrich my interactions with Nature! To many, many more.. for each of us who know the telling-tide so very well and spiritually value the rush of surf at one's feet as their "home away from home." (I photographed this birthday-party-hat-wearing mount 16-years ago (June 2004!) while inside the bar room of the Harborside Grille located on First Ave. in Atlantic Highlands, NJ.) |
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