Author Dennis Dauble reflects on domestic compromises and fishing
Nancy fractured her left foot after falling in a dark hallway and spent the next three months wearing a cumbersome boot. “I got up to put something on the grocery list,” she explained. Then, lo and behold, gout later set in on the same foot. If taking care of her needs wasn’t enough of a challenge to my free time, there is this corgi puppy she had to have “to keep me company while you go fishing.”
Planning my day around every-changing domestic needs has influenced how often I can fish. Overnight trips are no longer in the cards, nor are early morning starts because someone has to manage the dog around Nancy’s recovery issues. My fishing has become restricted to the time of day when shadows are the shortest.
With Nancy up and resting on the couch, I recently broke free to fish the Walla Walla River. Steelhead didn’t cooperate, but song sparrows twittered in the brush, redtail hawks turned slow circles overhead, and the musky odor of cottonwood bottomland restored my soul. Once my gear was safely stowed for the drive home, I rang up Nancy to inform I was on my way back to help out with chores.
“I’m glad you called,” she replied. “I’ve had a terrible day.”
“It is because of your foot?”
“That’s part of it. The other part is when I let Abby out, she just laid there on the grass and looked around. Then my moon earring fell off when I drove into town for my prescription.”
A brief pause ensued before Nancy emptied her bank of woes. “The earring fell under the seat and I twisted my ankle when I moved the seat up and down, but I did find it.”
The next time I snuck off for a few hours of mid-day fishing. Abby pulled Nancy off the back porch on the retractable leash. Nancy ended up with a cut on her chin and a black eye. No doubt neighbors assumed I had punched her in a fit of boredom. Admittedly, our arguing had increased following the switch to daylight savings time and me being mostly house-bound.
“Did you have a good time fishing?” Nancy finally asked.
“I tripped on fallen branches once and also when a blackberry vine grabbed my boots, but I did not injure myself or break my rod.” I said, hoping that shared misfortune would make her feel better about her maladies. It did not.
Serious salmon fishers know that the best bite of the day occurs at first light. Fly casters delight in the knowledge that trout feed like crazy during the evening rise. Others are keenly aware that predators like bass and walleye chase their prey mainly during conditions of low light.
Catching fish can be a challenge when the sun is high in the sky. A moment of self-reflection occurred this past fall when I met a fly caster on the Ringold Springs shoreline. I felt reasonably good about my Spey casting ability until I watched him lay out a Maribou fly at least 20 feet past my best cast. When he took pause to converse, I shared that I had a narrow window of time on the river because “my wife has physical issues.”
“The last time I fished this stretch of water, my wife berated me for leaving her home alone with the dog for four hours,” I continued. “She maintained I said I was going to fish for two hours. What she failed to understand was that it takes an hour to drive here and an hour to drive back.”
The gray-bearded fly caster listened patiently to my self-regarded tale before remarking that his time on the water was also limited to a few hours at a time. “My wife is on oxygen and has a pace-maker, but I only live fifteen miles away,” he replied.
It seems I’m not the only one with a cross to bear. There is a point in life when maintaining peace and harmony with the better half should be a priority. While getting used to something is not the same as liking it, I am often reminded that any time spent fishing is better than no fishing.
On occasion, I might even catch a fish or two.
Dennis Dauble is author of five award-winning books about fish and fishing. His new book, “A Rustic Cabin,” is about 19 years of cabin life in the upper Umatilla River canyon. Contact him at his website DennisDaubleBooks.com.
