Stepping Into the Harness
"A society grows great when old men plant trees whose shade they know they shall never sit in."
- Greek Proverb
When I first began fishing as a kid, my only responsibility was to be present. Dad did all the work. He initiated, planned, paid for, and cleaned up after each foray. It was a pretty sweet deal. Just show up, let someone else do the work, and have fun.
There is nothing wrong with that. After all, I didn't have the means to pull off a fishing trip. Or the knowledge, gear, or a car. All I brought to the table was desire. When it came to fishing, I had that in spades.
Eventually , dad began to delegate some responsibilities to me as he taught me about fishing. I learned by watching him.
I remember my first Trout Unlimited chapter meeting. There was a "celebrity" guest speaker and a barbecue lunch Like my early fishing trips, all I really did was show up. Everything had been planned for me. And there was nothing wrong with that.
I attended primarily because I hoped to be a better fly fisher, and I was in dire need of help in that department. Indeed, I did learn a little, so I joined the chapter and began attending meetings regularly. From the meetings, I learned about Trout Unlimited's conservation mission, which resonated deeply with me, due to those early seeds planted by my father.
Gradually I became aware that I benefited from the service of volunteers who led the chapter, just like I had benefited from dad taking me fishing. This was a good group of people doing good things, and I wanted to do my part to pay it forward. I learned by watching them.
When I first volunteered to help in my chapter, I had romanticized visions of restoring our local river and turning it into a trout wonderland. I imagined working side by side with biologists and hydrologists to repair some of the damage wrought by the hand of man. And of course along the way, become a fly fishing phenom.
The reality of volunteer work was a bit less exciting. Budget meetings, newsletters, PowerPoint presentations, fund raising, org charts, and strategic plans consumed most of my volunteer time. It was a lot like being at work. My fishing prowess improved, but trout still had little to fear from me.
What I failed to realize until then was that just as I had enjoyed the results of dad's hard work as a boy, I was now enjoying the results of the hard work of TU volunteers who had gone before me. I had only seen the results, not the work behind the scenes.
In most endeavors we engage in, we expect to work hard to earn success. But in fishing it's backwards...we experience success first because of the investment of others. Then it becomes our turn to step into the harness so others can experience what we have. Along the way we become the stewards of the resource for the next generation of members and leaders.
Sometimes when the necessary "business" side of conservation gets a little too busy, a little too stressful, I return to the stream. There as the flow gently tries to push me to the sea, I listen to the chuckle of water upon stone. I cast, mend and repeat. My mind drifts unencumbered on the currents like my flies; I recall a father, a little boy, a red and white bobber, and I smile.
I leave the river and step back into the harness.
- Greek Proverb
When I first began fishing as a kid, my only responsibility was to be present. Dad did all the work. He initiated, planned, paid for, and cleaned up after each foray. It was a pretty sweet deal. Just show up, let someone else do the work, and have fun.
There is nothing wrong with that. After all, I didn't have the means to pull off a fishing trip. Or the knowledge, gear, or a car. All I brought to the table was desire. When it came to fishing, I had that in spades.
Eventually , dad began to delegate some responsibilities to me as he taught me about fishing. I learned by watching him.
I remember my first Trout Unlimited chapter meeting. There was a "celebrity" guest speaker and a barbecue lunch Like my early fishing trips, all I really did was show up. Everything had been planned for me. And there was nothing wrong with that.
I attended primarily because I hoped to be a better fly fisher, and I was in dire need of help in that department. Indeed, I did learn a little, so I joined the chapter and began attending meetings regularly. From the meetings, I learned about Trout Unlimited's conservation mission, which resonated deeply with me, due to those early seeds planted by my father.
Gradually I became aware that I benefited from the service of volunteers who led the chapter, just like I had benefited from dad taking me fishing. This was a good group of people doing good things, and I wanted to do my part to pay it forward. I learned by watching them.
When I first volunteered to help in my chapter, I had romanticized visions of restoring our local river and turning it into a trout wonderland. I imagined working side by side with biologists and hydrologists to repair some of the damage wrought by the hand of man. And of course along the way, become a fly fishing phenom.
The reality of volunteer work was a bit less exciting. Budget meetings, newsletters, PowerPoint presentations, fund raising, org charts, and strategic plans consumed most of my volunteer time. It was a lot like being at work. My fishing prowess improved, but trout still had little to fear from me.
What I failed to realize until then was that just as I had enjoyed the results of dad's hard work as a boy, I was now enjoying the results of the hard work of TU volunteers who had gone before me. I had only seen the results, not the work behind the scenes.
In most endeavors we engage in, we expect to work hard to earn success. But in fishing it's backwards...we experience success first because of the investment of others. Then it becomes our turn to step into the harness so others can experience what we have. Along the way we become the stewards of the resource for the next generation of members and leaders.
Sometimes when the necessary "business" side of conservation gets a little too busy, a little too stressful, I return to the stream. There as the flow gently tries to push me to the sea, I listen to the chuckle of water upon stone. I cast, mend and repeat. My mind drifts unencumbered on the currents like my flies; I recall a father, a little boy, a red and white bobber, and I smile.
I leave the river and step back into the harness.
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