Careful Who You Tell to Find Their Own Fish

The house where I lived inside Harriman State Park was 200 yards from the Henry’s Fork of the Snake River - one of the best rainbow trout fishing rivers in the U.S. The river provides wonderful habitat for mayflies and stone flies which the trout love to eat. Fishermen from all over the country come to fish Idaho’s Henry’s Fork.

I fished nearly every day and caught numerous rainbow trout with the largest being 24 inches long. One mid-July afternoon, I fished in the river with about 8 others fishing nearby. I waded out to a wide spot of the river near a deep pool. Whenever I noticed a swirl on the water (caused by trout feeding on mayflies) I cast near the swirl to tempt trout to my fly. A swirl formed about 30 feet from me and I cast toward it. I stripped my line in to keep it tight. There wasn’t a fish strike on that pass, so I cast again to the same spot. That’s when I heard a voice from about 70 feet away say,

“Hey, go find your own fish!”

I looked toward the fisherman and asked, “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

He answered, “I said go find your own fish! For the past 10 minutes, I’ve been tying on a new fly to catch that fish!”

“Really?” I asked.

“YES, really!” He answered.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know that.” I said and quietly waded back to the bank to find another area to fish as I thought I had given adequate distance between me and the other fisherman AND there were other fish feeding around him. I got out of the river and decided that was enough - I didn’t want to fish anymore. I stood near the parking area until the fisherman returned to his car. I wanted to say something to him, even apologize again, but decided to leave as I was afraid of saying something unkind. Because of the rudeness of this one fisherman, I didn’t want to go fishing for two weeks. He turned me “off” of fishing.

The day after this man told me to, “Go find my own fish” I was back on duty as park ranger patrolling parking lots to empty trash cans, check restrooms and make sure all of the cars had paid their park entrance fee which was indicated by paper slips on their windshields. I noticed the car of the fisherman from the day before. He hadn’t paid his entry fee. I pulled out my parking tickets and left it on his windshield and said to myself, “Be careful who you tell to go find their own fish.” Later that day, another ranger encountered the same man who was complaining because he didn’t think he had to pay to enter the park because, “The fishing isn’t all that good this year.”

As Christians, we carry the mark of Christ. When we act Christ-like toward others it may be noticed and appreciated. However, when we act in ways that is rude or unkind, they notice us even more because of the mark of Christ around our necks, on our t-shirt, notebooks or cars. Remember to bring honor to the mark of Christ that you carry into the classrooms, restaurants, gyms and neighborhoods because together we are all fishing to be the people of God.

The Swimming Eagle

Harriman State Park of Idaho’s visitors center overlooks the Henry’s Fork of the Snake River. One morning in 1990, while waiting for tour groups, I looked through the viewing window and watched a flock of immature bald eagles flying over the river. Immature bald eagles are 3-5 years old and have brown plumage speckled with white before getting their distinctive white head. They are sort-of in their “teenage” years as they figure things out on their own, develop their wings, learn how to soar on the wind drafts and get better at catching their own food.

Suddenly, one of the eagles swooped down to the water and extended his talons. It was the typical “eagle stance” seen in photos, displayed atop winners trophies and stamped on the back of a 1976 American silver dollar. This majestic young eagle came in prepared to catch its prey. His talons hit the water, scooped its prey and THEN – well – uh- the eagle didn’t lift off of the water! All forward motion stopped! His talons were stuck beneath the surface because he hooked on a fish much larger than his body could carry. I picked up a pair of binoculars to get a closer view. With his wings still held high in a “V” shape the eagle began to sink into the river. Then, he used his soggy wings to swim to the sandy river bank. Once out of the water, I saw his yellow talons holding a fish about 4 inches long for in his haste to stop the sinking, he let go of the bigger fish and grabbed something to save face. His head darted left and right looking for his eagle buddies wondering,

“Did anybody see that?”

Within a minute, this eagle was surrounded by 4 or 5 more young eagles. They looked at him, his catch and “talked” amongst themselves,

“What happened to that great BIG fish you said you were going to catch?”

“Yeah, couldn’t you handle the weight?”

“We see you caught a little minnow to snack on. Hah-hah.”

The eagles remained on the bank while their embarrassed friend shook to dry his feathers. Fifteen minutes later all of them were back flying together.

Eagles go through growth to build their strength, gain confidence and learn through trial and error. As teenagers, we humans go through a period of trial and error where mistakes are made. We laugh about them with our friends, shake it off, fly off and try again. It’s not easy, but it’s easier when you have people to support and care for you.

As part of youth ministry, we hope to give you opportunities where you can learn and strengthen your abilities as you mature into adulthood. Join us as we fly together.

The Impact of Idaho, Montana & Wyoming

One of the most influential experiences of my life came through a summer job experience while I was a student at Mississippi State University.  In 1988 and 1990, I worked as a seasonal park ranger at Harriman State Park of Idaho. My job was to guide park visitors on nature walks and historical tours of an old cattle ranch turned state park.  I learned how to tell stories, strike up conversations with complete strangers, create multi-media presentations, and many other things that shaped my professional life.

In addition to these valuable experiences, my spiritual life was enriched by the people I met, rangers and their families who became friends, and the beauty of the Rocky Mountains.  It was in Idaho that I began to feel the tug of a call into ministry while I was helping a minister put up a sign for his church.  It was here that my spiritual life deepened through long hours of isolation from people – it doesn’t take long to get away from people in the Northwest.  It was here where I was given direction of what I SHOULD be doing with my life.

   

In the coming week’s I’ll share some of my stories of the people, people and places I experienced such as: what happens when an immature eagle tries to catch a fish bigger than itself; when fishing be careful which fisherman you tell to, “Go find your own fish;" the benefit of carrying thermal underwear in June when visiting Yellowstone National Park; and other stories.  Maybe these stories will make you laugh and maybe they will inspire you to make your own journey to somewhere meaningful to you.  It sure made a huge impact on me.

Looking at Clouds

This past month, I’ve been staring at the clouds every chance I look out the window. We are in the thick of winter in North Alabama, but this past month has brought us warm air, rain, thunderstorms and even a tornado. All of this came on the heels of an intensely cold week of teen and single digit temperatures. However, we live in the southeast where our winters are mild compared to the northern part of our country.

I stare at the clouds amid a backdrop of deep clear blue sky. Cotton ball puffy clouds pass beneath the fuzzy wiffs of white smokey mists billowed by high altitude currents. My eyes affix to this changing beauty above me and I freeze in place. Tears swell in my eyes as an aching hole returns to memories of my good friend Mike Williams. Mike would enjoy watching these clouds. There is something about them that lift me from the present place me in the past to the deck of an aluminum boat floating on the reflective yet absorbing lake water. There, in the past, I am reunited with my friend, my fishing buddy, my ministerial colleague. Mike is on the front deck and I am on the rear deck. With fishing rods in our hands, we stop our casting of lures to look at the clouds that lay in front of us as they reach from lake surface toward heaven.

“Wow!” I say. “Look at those beautiful clouds, Mike.”

Without words, Mike responds with a noise of acknowledgement and appreciation.

“MMM-mm. Gorgeous, aren’t they?”

"Yep!” I answer. Our words to each other end there as we soak in the experience of being there.

Heavy sky bound water vapor separates and moves within and throughout other clouds and I am ripped back to the present.

"He’s gone! Fishing days with Mike are gone!”

Pains of absence grip me as a daily reminder that I can’t shake this. I’m having trouble moving on because I don’t understand what happened on November 4, 2008. It would be easy for me to be frozen in place staring at the clouds unaware of time’s passage. The grief of loss continues to grip me. The hole will never be replaced and I wish it wasn’t there at all. I want today to be a time of looking forward to the next fishing trip with Mike, but nothing I do turns back the clock. We move forward to the next Monday which turns into Tuesday turning into Wednesday turning into another day off followed by another workday. Winter turns to Spring becoming Summer drying into Fall returning to Winter. With each passing day, month, and season, life goes on and I have to learn to live with the changes, sameness and absence of those that used to be here. Daddy is gone and I have learned to understand what led to his departure. Granddaddy is gone and we lived a full life with him. Leigh Anna is tragically gone leaving its own hole upon my life and ministry, but Mike’s departure has been hard for me to grasp and accept. I teeter on moments of anger - due to lack of understanding – and absolute gut wrenching tear driven stains of sorrow followed by joyous thanksgiving for over 20 years of creating friendship.

The clouds draw me in. It reminds me of watching Flip Pallot’s fishing show, The Walker’s Cay Chronicles and seeing Flip guiding his boat across the glassy surface of the intercoastal waterways of Florida. His fishing day ends with an escape from the oncoming battleship summer thunderstorm clouds. The feeling of fishing – the way it feels to me and was shared by Mike – is captured on the film and in Pallot’s narration. Watching the clouds pass returns me to the wonderful adventures shared with the best fishing buddy of my adult years. After Daddy died, my granddaddy – Bruce Gilbert – was my primary fishing partner. As he got older and less able to get in and out of a boat - and I moved away from Huntsville to Birmingham - Mike became a regular fishing companion.

The clouds represent how I view heaven – the kingdom of God surrounding us. The clouds spread from the high altitudes coming down to earth through foggy mornings and reaching us where we are. The dense air cannot be contained by shapes, metal boxes, or brick houses. It just surrounds them with beautiful white warmth.

For now, I’ll continue to look at the clouds and in time I will stare beneath them to find a better understanding of where I am now and how to move forward in absence of my dear friend. Amid the clouds we will laugh and stories will be shared. Mike remains with the clouds, in my boat, watching as I carry on our passion of fishing. His present voice is silenced, but his voice from the past guides me and lifts me as it always did. Encouraged by his spirit, comforted and led by the Spirit of God, I carry on as a minister to the people of God and one minuscule care taker of God’s creation.

I miss you Mike!