A New Season
Major League Baseball: March 26
Open Water in Maine: April 1
Miramichi River: April 15
Oregon rivers and streams: Friday before Memorial Day (May 22)
Washington rivers and streams: Saturday before Memorial Day (May 23)
I suppose that there are more baseball fans than anglers, but I don’t think the ratio corresponds to the anticipation felt for their respective opening days.
So, let’s assume that they’re equal: that these two national pastimes carry with them an equivalent amount of excitement leading up to their official start dates. A quick survey of a few opening days that I keep track of (above, though I had to look up the MLB date), tells me that they don’t align perfectly, but it all happens in spring, more or less. And while there are indeed many waters, fisheries, and baseball seasons that are open, or run, year-round, I can’t help but to find some parallels in their approaches on the calendar.
Before going on, I should add that I’m not much of a baseball fan, and was never much of a player either. I attribute the former detail to the latter which, in turn, I attribute to a very specific try out when I was in elementary school. Until that point, there were no try outs: Tee Ball, Farm Team, etc., they all just required that you showed up, which I did. But when I reached the age where Little League came into play, the stakes increased. Not everyone made the team, and those selected were done so based on their skills. So I tried out. This story has been told to friends of mine over the years; some were there when it all went down.
On day two of my local Little League team try out, all the prospective players took batting practice, facing one of the coaches as pitcher. When my turn came, I stepped up to the plate and assumed my comfortable batting stance; as a right-hand hitter, naturally my left foot faced forward and I looked over my left shoulder at the pitcher-coach as they prepared to gauge my slugging abilities, if any. Here is where things got complicated.
Folks who have met me before may know that I have a minor eye condition known as Duane’s Syndrome (though I prefer “Duane’s Disease” for the alliteration). The effect is that my left eye does not look in that direction; only the right does. It’s essentially innocuous and I rarely notice it myself, but if I’m looking to my left with only my eyes and don’t turn my head, I see double. So, when I’m at bat, to avoid seeing two baseballs, pitchers, infields, outfields, etc., I have to turn my head 90-degrees to the left.
(As an aside, I’ve found some pride in my Duane’s Disease over the years, and always take to others with lazy eyes or optical conditions. In high school, when one of my best friends suddenly woke up with facial palsy, we started calling each other Duane and Paul. Later, when my writing and reading world expanded, I realized that Jim Harrison also carried an eye affliction; naturally, I take to this as well.)
“OK, here comes the pitch,” the coach said.
I nodded. He looked at me.
“Ready? Here we go.” he said.
I nodded again. Still, he looked at me.
“I’m gonna pitch it—you ready??”
“Yes!”
Still, no pitch. I held my stance.
“Son, why are you looking at third base?!”
I forget what happened next, except that I didn’t make the team.
It’s possibly—perhaps likely—that my skills weren’t strong enough to make the team anyway, but my batting stance couldn’t have helped my cause. My assumption is that, unaware of my eye condition, the coach interpreted my cocked head as some sort of baseball and hitting deficiency, and cut me. My pride bruised, I never tried out for another baseball team and my ‘career’ ended then and there. (In fairness, the coach’s interpretation may have been spot on.)
So, despite my ineptitude as a ball player, I’ll grant myself qualification to run with this analogy for a bit.
They’re all three seasons long: spring to fall, and coincide with a rise and fall in daylight and temperature. After extended time off, we’re granted fresh starts, clean slates, clean spikes, and clean fly lines. We hibernated over the winter, hopefully worked on our games, and prepared our equipment and our minds for a fresh go at it.
At the beginning of the season, it feels as if there’s a limitless number of innings and outings; opportunities—for swings, hits, casts, and hooksets—abound. Most of all, I think the beginning of the seasons offer palpable hope. There’s hope for something better, something more than last year: better swings, prettier casts, more hits, more hooked fish, fewer errors and strikes, fewer missed hooksets, windknots, tailing loops, and spooked fish.
Mentally, swings and misses don’t count for much at the beginning of the season, because more pitches and casts await in the next game and the next day on the water. But in reality, each is as valuable as the next, because before we know it, the end of the season is within sight. Considering that, we might be inclined to over-value or overthink each swing and cast, but that won’t help—it will only hurt, in fact. The harder we try to hit the ball or catch the fish, the less effective we’ll be, undoubtedly.
This is why we prepare. We practice our swings and our casts; we study the opponent and the water; we find our preferred bat and glove, and bring the right rod and flies.
But here’s where the analogy falls apart, at least in my mind as an inexperienced baseball player: what happens when we’ve done all we can to prepare, and the fish aren’t biting or we can’t get them to bite? Do big league baseball players ever simply shrug and think to themselves, ‘I couldn’t have done anything about it?’ I do not know.
Perhaps the result to both scenarios—skunks and strikeouts—is an opportunity and open invitation to get better and try again. We’ll never hit every pitch or catch every fish. I suppose we can (and do) try, but would that be as much fun?
I think not, but I’m just a cross-eyed fisherman that can’t hit a fastball, so what do I know?
Major League Baseball regular season ends: September 27
Final day of Open Water in Maine: September 30
Last day to fish the Miramichi River: October 15
End of Oregon rivers and streams season: October 31
End of Washington rivers and streams season: October 31
