Andy Ostmeyer: Sometimes, fishing isn’t about fishing
July 15, 2020
Courtesy of The Joplin Globe
Yes, Roaring River has that beautiful spring and spring-fed stream.
Yes, it has a hatchery, and thousands of trout are stocked every night in that stream.
And yes, hundreds of thousands of anglers try their hands at those trout each season.
Me and mine among ’em.
But don't be fooled for a second: Roaring River isn't about fishing.
It's about memories, stringers of memories.
Like helping each of your children catch their first fish.
And of a young boy buying his first pocketknife and slicing his thumb open seconds later, and the dumbfounded look he gave you that said, "I don't know how that just happened."
And of buying donuts at 4 a.m. and driving to Roaring River with a car full of sleeping kids when you can't get away for the entire weekend. And of a dad who drove halfway there on one of those day trips, only to discover he'd left his billfold — with fishing license and cash — behind. So he drove home, grumpy, thinking that was the end of that, until Mom said, 'Go back anyway.' And you did — and had one of your best days.
It's about memories of woodsmoke and campfires. Of downpours and incinerator July afternoons. Of crisp October nights. Of a warm breakfast in the lodge on mornings where your fingers have frozen and desserts of ice cream there at night looking out over the park at dusk. Of raccoons raiding the cooler during one camping trip, making off with the fish because, as the kids said, they're smarter than you.
It's memories of grilled trout, trout almondine, trout cakes and more.
And of those children becoming self-sufficient, no longer needing Dad to fix poles, untangle lines, or clean and cook the day's catch, although the older they got the more help they needed getting out of bed at 4 a.m.
Is that young man now filleting rainbows at the cleaning station the same boy who nearly sliced off his thumb a few years ago?
Yes.
When did that happen?
Now you're watching those same kids grow up and move away and begin to make lives for themselves, and they're coming to the realization what an extraordinary place Roaring River is and how lucky we all are to be linked together by it and how much they want to return to make memories for their own children.
Roaring River is about memories with our own dads, too, who always jumped at the chance to go, who found it easy to fish there when it got too hard to wade in the swifter, slicker streams in the Rockies. And of that dad who is gone now, and you find yourself the grandfather helping your granddaughter land her first fish, just as you have pictures of him laughing while he helped your children.
Wasn't she born about the same time he passed? And was that just a coincidence or part of a larger plan?
Either way, it sure filled a hole he left behind. With your dad gone, you now find yourself the older generation — standing guard, standing watch — hoping the next generation continues to hold on to each other, to count on each other to navigate past life's harder edges, all the while building more memories around this place.
This was not the column I set out to write.
I set out to write a more straightforward piece about U.S. Senate passage recently of the Great American Outdoors Act, which among other things will provide full funding for the Land and Water Conservation Fund. The fund supports parks at all levels, from Joplin's Spiva Park to Yellowstone National Park. And Roaring River. Seven times since 1967, that money has been used to acquire land for Roaring River or for utility and campground improvements there.
My memories of family would be less without Roaring River and other parks where we've been regulars — Devil's Den, Mesa Verde, Grand Canyon, Buffalo National River and Ozark National Scenic Riverways — all of which have received these funds. Those parks wouldn't be what they are without that funding.
So I'll offer thanks — and a warning.
Thanks to those members of Congress who made it happen, this round of funding for the parks. Just don't stop there. This is an important step, but more must follow. There are more generations coming, more who need this place and other places like it — more than you can know. Aldo Leopold's warning that the greatest threat to the outdoor way of life comes from those who think they can live without it is a bigger concern than it was when we said it 80 years ago.
Roaring River is a shallow stream but runs deep — generations deep — for some families. When my granddaughter made her first trip there last year, at age 2, we became four generations deep, four generations who have fished the river first thing in the morning, made s'mores around the campfire at night, and goofed off and hiked and napped the day away in between. With any luck, I'll live long enough to help a fifth generation make a connection to the park.
Roaring River isn't about fishing.
It's about memories — memories of family. Stringers of memories.
Andy Ostmeyer is the editor of The Joplin Globe.
Yes, Roaring River has that beautiful spring and spring-fed stream.
Yes, it has a hatchery, and thousands of trout are stocked every night in that stream.
And yes, hundreds of thousands of anglers try their hands at those trout each season.
Me and mine among ’em.
But don't be fooled for a second: Roaring River isn't about fishing.
It's about memories, stringers of memories.
Like helping each of your children catch their first fish.
And of a young boy buying his first pocketknife and slicing his thumb open seconds later, and the dumbfounded look he gave you that said, "I don't know how that just happened."
And of buying donuts at 4 a.m. and driving to Roaring River with a car full of sleeping kids when you can't get away for the entire weekend. And of a dad who drove halfway there on one of those day trips, only to discover he'd left his billfold — with fishing license and cash — behind. So he drove home, grumpy, thinking that was the end of that, until Mom said, 'Go back anyway.' And you did — and had one of your best days.
It's about memories of woodsmoke and campfires. Of downpours and incinerator July afternoons. Of crisp October nights. Of a warm breakfast in the lodge on mornings where your fingers have frozen and desserts of ice cream there at night looking out over the park at dusk. Of raccoons raiding the cooler during one camping trip, making off with the fish because, as the kids said, they're smarter than you.
It's memories of grilled trout, trout almondine, trout cakes and more.
And of those children becoming self-sufficient, no longer needing Dad to fix poles, untangle lines, or clean and cook the day's catch, although the older they got the more help they needed getting out of bed at 4 a.m.
Is that young man now filleting rainbows at the cleaning station the same boy who nearly sliced off his thumb a few years ago?
Yes.
When did that happen?
Now you're watching those same kids grow up and move away and begin to make lives for themselves, and they're coming to the realization what an extraordinary place Roaring River is and how lucky we all are to be linked together by it and how much they want to return to make memories for their own children.
Roaring River is about memories with our own dads, too, who always jumped at the chance to go, who found it easy to fish there when it got too hard to wade in the swifter, slicker streams in the Rockies. And of that dad who is gone now, and you find yourself the grandfather helping your granddaughter land her first fish, just as you have pictures of him laughing while he helped your children.
Wasn't she born about the same time he passed? And was that just a coincidence or part of a larger plan?
Either way, it sure filled a hole he left behind. With your dad gone, you now find yourself the older generation — standing guard, standing watch — hoping the next generation continues to hold on to each other, to count on each other to navigate past life's harder edges, all the while building more memories around this place.
This was not the column I set out to write.
I set out to write a more straightforward piece about U.S. Senate passage recently of the Great American Outdoors Act, which among other things will provide full funding for the Land and Water Conservation Fund. The fund supports parks at all levels, from Joplin's Spiva Park to Yellowstone National Park. And Roaring River. Seven times since 1967, that money has been used to acquire land for Roaring River or for utility and campground improvements there.
My memories of family would be less without Roaring River and other parks where we've been regulars — Devil's Den, Mesa Verde, Grand Canyon, Buffalo National River and Ozark National Scenic Riverways — all of which have received these funds. Those parks wouldn't be what they are without that funding.
So I'll offer thanks — and a warning.
Thanks to those members of Congress who made it happen, this round of funding for the parks. Just don't stop there. This is an important step, but more must follow. There are more generations coming, more who need this place and other places like it — more than you can know. Aldo Leopold's warning that the greatest threat to the outdoor way of life comes from those who think they can live without it is a bigger concern than it was when we said it 80 years ago.
Roaring River is a shallow stream but runs deep — generations deep — for some families. When my granddaughter made her first trip there last year, at age 2, we became four generations deep, four generations who have fished the river first thing in the morning, made s'mores around the campfire at night, and goofed off and hiked and napped the day away in between. With any luck, I'll live long enough to help a fifth generation make a connection to the park.
Roaring River isn't about fishing.
It's about memories — memories of family. Stringers of memories.
Andy Ostmeyer is the editor of The Joplin Globe.