Checchio's appropriation of the title is, as he notes, ironic. No navel gazing or Worsdworthian hymns to the spiritual within the sensible for him. He does, naturally, describe beautiful rivers and he briefly considers the emotional satsifactions of fly fishing. Fishing, he writes, is "one means of perceiving the majesty of our planetary world. And no greater majesty can be available to the human senses." He conjectures that ultimately "fly fishers try to make a kind of healing connection with the world. Fishing lifts us above the ordinary, while keeping us connected to simple things." That's about as far into existential rumination as Checchio gets, and probably as far as most writers need to go.
In Checchio's previous life as a self-described hard-nosed street reporter, the Big Questions were never part of his beat anyway. His book tells the story of how he broke away from a secure but unsatisfying life as a journalist in New Jersey to chase trout and steelhead (mostly steelhead) full time. It follows him thorugh the initial summer of his getaway, hopping trout streams on the Yellowstone plateau (in the fiery summer of '88), venturing north to the summer steelhead rivers of Oregon and Washington, then settling in San Fransisco as a base for chasing steelhead and writing. In keeping with his reporter's background, the narrative pace is brisk, the detail spare but revealing. His adventures are peopled with distinctive characters, usually crusty and antisocial sorts (apparently some clichés of fishing books just can't be avoided--probably because their living inspirations can't). At his best, Checchio, like many American poets (William Carlos Williams comes to mind--what is it about New Jersey?) or Japanese Haiku artisits, conveys great depth of experience by describing the simplest of immediate, tangible things. When landing a memorable brown trout, for instance, he becomes "aware of several things at once. The feeling of living weight on the end of my line. The wind kicking up over the basin, wrinkling the surface of the river. One two three four small birds flying out of the willows." Writers who tie themselves in knots trying to evoke the sense of "connectedness" fishing brings on rarely succeed as well as Checchio does in this handful of sentence fragments.
But if simplicity is the book's main strength, it is also a weakness. Sluffing off his old life for trout bumhood doesn't seem to have been too difficult for the author. According to the subtitle, Checchio gave up everthing to fish the west. "Everything" apparently includes a job he had lost interest in, a home in a toxic, degraded landscape, and mediocre fishing waters. No partner, no family, no strong friendships, nothing of any particular personal significance. And he had plenty of money saved to make the trip. There doesn't seem to have been much at stake in his choice to leave, aside from fulfillment of a fantasy--and a fantasy which is itself a cliché among fishermen (including ye humble reviewer). If there are no serious obstacles to fulfilling that fantasy, where's the story?
Checchio admirably avoids egocentric nature worship, but also delivers a tale without much moral, emotional or intellectual substance. Among the reasons he cites for leaving journalism was to grow as a writer, to create literature instead of copy. That's tougher to accomplish than quitting your job to go fishing. While BN&FF is a start in the right direction, most of the author's intended journey still lies ahead. Along the way, a little introspection, or a glimpse around the edge of those Big Questions, might not hurt him.
Tags:Fishing;Literature
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