Fetch my tweed, Jeeves–I’m playing sportsman this weekend!
The Buster boys are having a discussion about getting rid of the “trout bum” marketing stereotype. Good. It’s about time someone put that away. I’m guessing Gierach, who may or may not have coined the term, is probably pretty flippin’ tired of it himself. It’s probably kind of like being a musician and writing a semi-crappy song that becomes wildly popular, forcing you to listen to it over and over. And the man left behind his bumminess about the time he published his first book (not a judgement of the fine man–just an observation that as soon as an artist creates something, it takes on new life and flees its original form).
On to my cultural analysis. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what is sporting, and what makes a sportsman. Is it the look? Is it the Filson jacket? Is it the cost of the shotgun or the flyrod? I think most of us who actually live in contact with the great outdoors (as opposed to buying the costume at Cabela’s) would probably agree that none of those things define sporting. So we can leave image behind for now.
There have been tomes written on the subject of sporting ethics. So is it our ethics that define us? I think so, to a great extent. But that brings up lots of questions. What is fair chase? Do we practice catch-and-release? Is fly-fishing superior to worm-drowning? Do we spot-and-stalk our deer, or do we drive them from tree rows with three generations worth of bushwhackers and have Grandpa gun them down as they flee? This last was a tad over-the-top, but then I have observed this very thing in Southeastern North Dakota. The hail of bullets and my sense of self-preservation pushed me out of the regular gun season and right into the archery and muzzleloader seasons.
I once had a very long conversation over the course of several days with a beautiful woman with a quick mind and a vegetarian outlook. Her feeling about animals was that we should hurt them as little as possible. While I tend to agree, I also understand that I am at the top of the food chain. We went back and forth over the issue of catch-and-release fishing. Her perspective was that it is almost more honest to fish for subsistence, eating what you catch, versus harming the fish for sport and releasing them. I think our main ideological difference was in the way we look at the resource at hand. If fish=food, then I know I have the skills to eat, and I think that will always be one reason that I fish. If fish=sport, then I know that in certain cases I want to practice catch-and-release to maintain the resource for others to experience, not necessarily because it is less harmful to the fish, which I do not believe are sentient beings who feel pain in the same way that humans do.
Once one is aware of the ramifications of kill vs. release, the next level is to examine the methods, and this is where the sporting image sometimes comes into play, eclipsing the substance of what we do as killers of meat or seekers of sport. One can see the debates everywhere on pure fishing art–fly vs. baitfishing, artificial vs. livebait, etc. Some fly-fishermen see themselves as purely sporting, never intending to kill fish. Some anglers seem to be hell-bent on filling their freezers with meat to last several lifetimes. And most of us are somewhere in between.
Case in point: snagging. This is certain to cause a little bit of debate. My initial impression of snagging will always be what I observed growing up in Montana: bridges lined with cooler-toting dudes slinging treble hooks in an all-out war on salmon runs. The monofilament left behind on overhead wires and bridge beams from those practices was in and of itself an environmental hazard!
Enter my experience with paddlefish snagging. The first time I saw paddlefish snagging on TV, a guide from Oklahoma was taking a group out in a boat to find and snag 50+ pound paddlefish. While I at first recoiled at the idea of snagging, I realized that the reason they were using that method was that paddlefish don’t lend themselves to baitfishing or artificial baits because of their plankton-sucking habit. So I booked a trip and off went my brother and I to snag these prehistoric creatures at Grand Lake, OK. Being from North Dakota, I was very surprised at the very liberal limits in OK, since we are only allowed one per season and there is a quota.
The experience was surreal. Motor along in a boat, dragging a 12 oz weight with about an 8/0 treble hook tied a couple feet up the line. When the paddlefish is engaged, prepare for the fight!
Our paddlefish were butchered by the guide (cleaned seems to be the proper word for a little trout, but these are a little big to slice open with a 4″ blade). We took the meat, thick steaks mostly, home in coolers to be consumed.
So do I feel dirty? Nah. Do I need to go on a paddlefish snagging binge? Nah. As with most experiences, the first time was rather exciting and now I may or may not seek out the opportunity again.
The real question: was it sporting? I’m not real sure. It’s kind of like catfish grabbling. If you’re going to eat the sucker, anyway, does it really matter much how you catch it?
I might also add other methods to the discussion. Speaking of catfish, is jug fishing sporting? Is using an automatic reel tied to a tree branch sporting? Is fishing a wire crappie rig with three hooks sporting?
I will sit back, smoking my pipe, leaning on my elbow patches, and ponder the matter. As with most things, I think a heavy dose of honest self-awareness will set most of us on the right path.
There is one thing I know for sure. I sure would like to see one of these Filson types put down his box of slave-labor-tied flies and grab a catfish out from under the cutbank like the ladies on Girls Gone Grabblin‘. Naw–scratch that. I’d rather see the girls do it.
Posted on 27th January 2009
Under: Cultural Analysis, Fishing, Hunting, Pandora's Box | 2 Comments »
