Idle Minutes

This is an ACEO watercolor of an imaginary scene. I fancied being out West, in Yellowstone, looking for a nice trout stream to wander up and down, all geared up for catching a nice sized Rainbow or Brown.

Funny thing about me and the sporting life. Most of it I fancy, never actually participating.

The main reason for this is the time and expense required to travel to rather remote places where such endeavors are rewarded with spectacular game and fishing, expert guides, and beautiful rustic lodges where one dines and rests between outings. There are three other reasons. They are what I call “hurdles” one must overcome in order to partake in the sporting life as a lifestyle:

• One needs a spouse that either tags along happily to the woods and remote places for these excursions, or doesn’t even exist in the first place.
• One needs a respectable amount of gear of acceptable brand and quality (read expensive) so as not to be immediately labeled a wannabe sportsman.
• One needs to have sufficient experience so as to be comfortable in the field and thus respectable in the minds of fellow Sportsmen.

None of these things I have…so most of the sporting life for me is fanciful daydreaming and reading the magazines of the sporting life.

You see, for one to become a true Sportsman, comfortable in the woods, hunting, fishing, shooting, and holding one’s own in story telling skills, one has to be raised in the activities, philosophies, and comradery of the sporting life. Thus it becomes a part of life such that it can’t be cast away until it is rediscovered in retirement. It is in fact, a way of life for a whole life.

Naturally, we Americans insist one can jump in at any time with practically any endeavor one chooses and fit right in…like an old timer. But one quickly learns what the term “novice” really means when jumping into the sporting life without the grounding of being raised in it. You are quickly found out no matter how much Orvis gear you are toting…no matter what your Parker double gun set you back. And as a result, you are the entertainment for the guides and other attendees of the excursion you’ve chosen. Albeit most often in a gentlemanly manner…excluding behind your back entertainment of course.

So, for me, I’ve missed out. I have no such experiences or grounding from youth. Nor do I have the formidable funds necessary for a proper adult education in becoming a respectable Sportsman this late in life.

So, I’m left only to fancy myself in the Sportsman’s world on occasion. Usually I end up painting something appropriate to give me some sense of attachment to that seemingly romantic world. It’s much safer, less expensive, and it spares me the embarrassment of hooking my own head during a cast of my fly line, or shooting the surrounding air space of a rising grouse while a bird dog looks at me with a puzzled expression. And of course, let us not forget what a curiosity one becomes when he utters absolutely no words during a lively dinner table discussion on fly tying, shot loads, double gun history, gun dog training, game tracking, wild game encounters…or whiskey preferences.

In short, it is best to paint than to make a fool of myself trying to be a Sportsman.