5 minute read
The Ties That Bind | Kastine Coleman
June 1 is a special day for my family. It marks the opening day of the Atlantic Salmon fishing season in Newfoundland and Labrador, Canada. The salmon have completed their migratory journey, some travelling from as far away as Greenland, only to return to our pristine rivers, waters just minutes from my front door. My dad, two brothers and I also return to the rivers each year, the boys coming from the other side of the island just for this occasion. Our daily lives grinding to a complete halt to be on the water together on opening day.
Family fuel
We spend the majority of the year raising our families, working, and enjoying the days, but for most of us, after October 7 and before June 1 is truly thought of as the “off season.” We’re all waiting for the opening day to resume normal life for a mere four months. Family gatherings add fuel to the fire. When we come together for a Christmas celebration, or even a casual Sunday dinner, the evening will start off like any other: we talk about what we did that week and laugh with the kids. But somehow these get-togethers always end up with the four adults huddled closely around the table, discussing new flies or techniques to try, the health of the rivers, and where we want to fish that coming summer. The pull is too great for any one of us to ignore.
Fishmas Eve
As June 1 nears closer, just as the Atlantic salmon make their way to our rivers each year, so do we begin to stage. “Fishmas Eve” arrives and waders are laid out. Leaders have been changed, flies neatly arranged in their boxes. Very little sleep will be had on Fishmas Eve; we set alarms for 3 a.m. and crawl into our beds with the same excitement a child feels on December 24. Finally, with coffee in hand, we drive through the darkness and make our way back to the rivers. The water is a respite, a place where we have the ability to reflect on and renew our commitment to our current journey, which includes the obstacles that will inevitably arise. There are always hurdles, our children are getting older and school schedules will increase demands on our time. There are deadlines at work, aging bodies with aching joints, the list goes on.
But the river doesn’t judge, and every year it welcomes us back, no matter where we are or what we have been through.
The flow of time has been replaced by the flow of the river. The water hugs our legs and birds chirp in the nearby forest. We all focus on the beauty of the moment, and recognize this interlude in our busy lives as a true gift. During this interlude there are no problems, no deadlines, no aches and pains. The annual migratory cycle of Atlantic Salmon has galvanized our strength for the coming year.
Time and space
From my spot in the river, my dad is 30 again, taking me to the river to show me a new pool. Despite the illusion, however, if I look carefully, I can see him moving a little slower now. His eyes still sparkle, but they’re tired from the early morning start. He’ll take more breaks to enjoy a hot mug of tea.
Our shared passion for fly fishing has been a blessing that I didn’t truly appreciate until I myself turned 30. This year I have given my kids the day off from school and brought them to the river with us to experience the magic of opening day. They are all teenagers now, long past the days of being safely strapped
into the baby carrier, with their toes tucked into my wading belt. I watch my dad spend time with each of them as they make casts and explore the river. Three generations fishing a pool. Shared time that will carry forward in perpetuity. These moments form the short compilation of precious memories that define, embolden, and strengthen us. Shared together, in those summer afternoons on a bank of the river, we touch the past, present, and future all at once.
