“When all the dangerous cliffs are fenced off, all the trees that might fall on people cut down, all of the insects that bite have been poisoned…and all the grizzlies are dead because they are occasionally dangerous, the wilderness will not be made safe. Rather, the safety will have destroyed the wilderness.”

- R. Yorke Edwards

It would be a stretch to say that I’m comfortable with the fresh tracks on the bank beside me. Far from it, actually. The bear is undoubtedly still near. But concern for my self-absorbed comfort aside, it still somehow feels right. Having to frequently look over my shoulder puts me firmly in context; anchors me, to a place at least one notch down from the easy chair of my accustomed apex. It makes me more aware of my own complicity in all this, more connected to the semblance of a predatory act I’m in the midst of committing as I tie on this imitation, hoping to fool yet another of the many resident consumers in this place.

Warm and fuzzy notions of “nature” are just that, when you’re standing in the middle of it. It all comes down to predation, everywhere you look, at every level. Our largely removed perception of it is comprised of what we choose to sympathize with, and just as importantly, what we choose to ignore. Think of it from the point of view of the caddisfly I just watched being consumed without hesitation - think of how terrifying trout must be.

I look upstream, trying to spot the person I came here with. He is already out of sight, picking pockets and moving, as is his nature when he fishes. I look downstream toward the boat, survey the landscape that surrounds. If the animal were to make a reappearance, it would likely be in the open space between myself and the craft that brought us here, the sheer walls elsewhere funneling he/she(?) onto the wide gravel bar. I run through scenarios of what I might do if an 800-pound, territorial animal were to cut me off from the boat, all the while trying to simply focus on the task of fishing, but the fact is I can’t focus. Not entirely. I am alone here, out of earshot of anyone, an hour-boat ride from the nearest road. There is no cell reception. No magic button. I realize that if this is what is to happen, there would be nothing I could do.

This isn’t relaxing. But the truth is I don’t necessarily want it to be, either. In the end, I catch nothing. But neither am I caught.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, February 9th, 2010 at 7:28 pm and is filed under Lower down on the foodchain, Flotsam, gotta be a place for this, Near Death In Real Life. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.