THE UNDERTOW LONELINESS
by James P. Spica Jr.
The horizon line is terrifying.
imbalanced mind begins to feed
to figuratively wipe the sand clean
on itself. Fishing is a distraction,
of other anglers; after a few hours
At this hour, two colors meet there:
an escape, indeed a means of
of solitude I begin to imagine waves
black and steel gray. What if I were
relaxation—except that the lonely
literally wiping me from the beach
out there—swept out, overboard,
angler is an emulsion of oil and
without a trace. It’s a curious, gradual
stranded, left to die. The physical
water, in which the therapeutic
inversion.
strength I’d need to tread water
nature of solitude competes with
would be easy to muster compared
the emptiness of land, water, and
I really only have myself to blame:
with the mental strength I’d need to
soul. Sometimes there’s more oil,
The truth is that I prefer to fish
stave off despair.
sometimes there’s more water.
alone. Even when I’m with another angler, I always suggest we go our
Such thoughts absorb me when I’m
Fishing leads me to a variety of quiet
separate ways and meet up after an
fishing alone.
places, which is great until solitude
hour or more. I just like to be alone
turns to loneliness—turns from a
with my own thoughts, I guess—even
Anxiety has plagued me all of my
pleasant high into a well of paranoia.
though I never know when those
life. Loneliness leaves one alone with
All the way to the beach I’m praying
thoughts are going to devolve from
one’s thoughts, so the chemically
to and pleading with a higher power
peaceful reflection to irrational
114 TAIL FLY FISHING MAGAZINE
