Outdoors

A weird thought tiptoed across the crenulations of my brain while I watched the Olympic trials recently. How about a fly fishing venue?

Then I realized that Olympic sports are all about goals of higher, faster, farther, and the thought stomped away, rapidly.

The only part of my favorite activity that fits those criteria is casting; though that’s an important part of fly fishing, it’s only one facet of becoming successful/knowledgeable while enjoying the process.

Some years ago, we were camping on Oregon’s Crooked River. I’d battled exceedingly stout breezes while hoisting the sail — uh — tent, and finally was rigging up for an attempt at fishing, when a Suburban (followed by another wagon) pulled in above us and exhaled seven people. Four more leaped from the wagon; all began donning waders, collecting rods from two individuals, and lining up along the shoreline.

As I eased downstream, each (I soon figured out) student was led into mid-stream, shown how to heave their fly upriver, let it float down, then repeat the process in hopes of getting a strike. Oddly, this portion of the stream is narrow; most fishable water can be reached by short casts. Large trout enjoy dining prospects in the near-shore waters the “class” had splashed through.

Later, I was easing the hook from a 14-inch rainbow when I spotted a small figure above me, exiting mid-current, struggling to hold up too-large waders, not go for a swim, or drop his fly outfit. He paused, peering toward my arched rod, finally reaching shore as I slid the trout into a shallow.

Casting, after releasing my fish, I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye. “Hi,” I said.

“Hi.” Glumly. No smile.

“You’ve caught several and never waded; I haven’t had a hit.”

“Lots are close to shore, resting in the shadows behind rocks; no need to wade if you can cast a short distance. Try below that big rock, and see what happens. I’ll move downstream a little.”

“OK.”

Darned if he didn’t hook one on his second cast. It got off, but the huge smile flashing in my direction bespoke the birth of enjoyment for learning the process of fishing. He’d been shown how to take a step, but lacked the knowledge — or experience — to logically alter his path if it was faulty.

Kinda like treating symptoms without knowing where/why they originate; or maybe the “shotgun” approach: “Let’s try this because it worked on that.”

Back to the present.

Fast forward to the recent newspaper article about how they’ve figured out lacking predators (wolves, in this instance) isn’t always beneficial to nature.

My first reaction was, “well, duh.”

That’s something many, who’ve regularly been immersed in the outdoors, have been aware of for a very long time.

Cyclic expansions of rodent populations, followed by rises in predator numbers — rarely rapidly enough to stem disease, and starvation, due to overpopulation — have provided examples.

So did the, similar, herbivore/predator/food relationship during the period of large deer and elk herds.

My second reaction? This is old news to most older wildlife biologists, but many new students come from backgrounds where exposure to such cycles wasn’t possible; they’re gleaning personal experience as they learn.

That’s good.

But, (third reaction) what if non-biologists interpret this article about a national park ecosystem — no human hunters allowed — to mean “let’s reintroduce wolves everywhere?”

Oh, my! Not good.

The wolf-niche in Oregon’s ecosystem vanished around 80 years ago, but was rapidly filled by human and coyote hunters, and expanding population. General reintroduction of another predator, into dwindling herds, would benefit neither.

Wolves are diners of opportunity; not enough natural prey to survive? Bite that cow, or sheep.

Wolf society is pretty neat, with natural survival goals dependant on its environment (Read: huge wilderness). Human society has, largely, ignored its environment in pursuit of higher faster, farther, more, until it’s become obvious we’ve not learned some knowledge that should have altered our paths.

It’s past time we begin thinking carefully; considering the potential for collateral damages — within existing ecosystems — caused by each step as we participate in the “Survival Olympics”.

Bill Barker can be contacted at billbarker@comcast.net.