116 3rd St SE
Cedar Rapids, Iowa 52401
Relativity in trout and time
The Nature Call: It was a good trip to Grovers Creek for fishing and contemplation
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Des Moines’ own Bill Bryson wrote in “A Short History of Nearly Everything” that in the first 10-30 seconds after the Big Bang, “the universe expanded from something you could hold in your hand to something at least 10,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 times bigger.”
That is short, like the shortest flash of silver when the rainbow trout rolls with the lure and the tenuous band between angler and fish is broken: that fast, that impactful.
Glovers Creek is about a 90-minute drive for me, but I do like to drive easy. It saves on gas and the old Tacoma complains over 60 mph. I was surprised to see the gate closed upon arrival, but took it as a good sign as the longer walk in would afford me more solitude.
In my bulky chest waders, the walk was 20 minutes to get to the far corner, where an ancient seabed formed the east bank wall.
Glovers creek has flowed here presumably for hundreds of thousands of years. Its time is a fraction of the limestone battlements. To the creek, I too am a sliver of a fraction of time. Vernal songs of early migrant birds reminded me how quickly spring comes and goes.
The fly rod assumed the position. A tiny bead-head nymph dropped in the water column and my extended arm guided the lure to an appropriate depth and traced the course, matching the current. I drew on the water with an instrument that left no mark.
While suited in my insulated waders, I intended to stay out of the water for two reasons. First, moving into the gin-clear steam would have caused plumes of sediment to cloud the water and disturb the status quo. Second, I figured my waders had about three holes in them between the knees and navel. Best not to tempt mother nature.
The upstream part of the pool received a new set of attempts. The tug and flash were simultaneous, but passed in the incredible moment of time where the memory’s strength is inverse to the moment's duration. I cursed and tried to re-attempt the connection: vain hope. The pool needed to reset and return to its gentle state. I took a rest for my feet bankside and watched the water.
Times to pause are integrated into fishing, more especially fly fishing rivers. Those who fish can be equal parts angler and philosopher. My time got me to thinking about the open race for the governor’s desk. What if I ran? What if I won? What would this jerk on one end of a line awaiting a jerk on the other stand for?
Enough time passed. I returned to extending my arm, switching between the right and left to fight fatigue. Lower in the pool the line throbbed, the rod arced and relaxed in that instance known only to physicists and fishermen. Time again to pause.
As governor I would reclaim Iowa’s esteemed reputation as the standard-bearer for public education. I would first insist that campuses become purposeful places of learning with the grounds rich in native plantings, curated to touch on all elements of the learning sequences, from preschool to graduation.
They will like to collect and prepare wild edibles. They will experience the intersections of sciences, humanities and themselves. Like Warren Nelson sang, give them “green room to run.”
My efforts moved downstream to a new pool complex. The wall of ancient sea life transitioned to a gentle hill. I had to do more casting than dipping and, accordingly, I spent most of my time untangling from the surrounding trees and grasses. The nearby slope was grass covered but an army of eastern red cedars was on the offensive. Without a fire — prescribed or otherwise — the evergreens would take over and smother the prairie, turning the area into a barren habitat for native insects and everything that eats them.
My outdoors platform as governor calls for a three pheasant daily gamebag limit and 1 million wild roosters a season to be the policy of the state; the state shall manage the natural resources to effectuate such a goal. Further, I would call for legislation to legalize the black bear. We don’t need to roll out a welcome mat, but executions at the borders is unacceptable.
I would reconnect the rivers to let the waters naturally increase their bounties: damn the dams. Finally I would establish leadership in habitat quality in that state lands shall be maintained in their natural states, free of invasive vegetation like Autumn olive or brome. If the state can do it, then so can the counties.
Departure time loomed. Frustrated, I resolved to try a final pool, near the boulder. At least I could say I gave it the old college try.
Beaver dental-based work lined the east bank. From my angle, the water looked strong with algae. The glare gave it the appearance of an aged mirror. The nymph dropped into the water and within that moment the taught line signaled a connection. This time the connection proved true.
The tussle was stressful because I really wanted to land that fish. My landing net cord was tangled on something and complicated the effort. The river in my mind was rushing with negative thoughts about the trout getting off until it was in the net and then on the bank. Whew!
I was too winded for comfort, but it was the wonderful winded feeling of winning a wrestling match. I whipped off my blade and plopped streamside to regain composure.
For The People I will restore the Aldo Leopold Center for Agricultural Sustainability at Iowa State. It was a crime to kill that groundbreaking program, justice demands its resurrection. As governor I will redouble the Living Roadway efforts. I will call for a nitrogen fertilizer tax in proportion to which it pollutes our waters. Finally, every town will get a bike and pedestrian trail ringing it. It only seems impossible because we haven’t yet tried.
Since this pool was good for one fish, I figured it’d be good for two. My third go with the tiny lure hooked the second trout. It came ashore with boyish joy instead of anxiety and joined the first on the hasty carrying stick I fashioned from a nearby bush.
The walk up and out of the valley was my last contemplative act. My mind was tired, my mouth was dry and I needed to focus on the realities of the road versus the dreams of the fields and stream.
Looking up, looking ahead, and keeping my pencil sharp.
John Lawrence Hanson, Ed.D. teaches at Linn-Mar High School. He sits on the Marion Tree Board, and is a member of the Outdoor Writers Association of America
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