I could think of worse ways to spend a winter afternoon than drifting down the broad waters of a sun-kissed river. Or perhaps
standing in the shallows rhythmically casting a fishing line. While these opportunities are rare in the dying days of winter, some-time poet, short story writer, and river guide Wayne Curtis has distilled the essence of the Miramichi fishing experience into this slim volume of essays. Whatever your interests, there is something in it to delight you.
For readers like me who will never be found in the middle of a river in hip waders, it conveys the moods and the surroundings of the river. For those devoted to the sport, it includes a detailed guide to reading weather conditions, choosing the appropriate tackle and flies, gauging the angle of a cast, and just generally making the most of the opportunity.
However, when he appeals to the latter audience, the author is in danger of losing the former one. The first part of the book has some fairly technical segments and a lot of confusing fishing jargon. Happily for me, the latter chapters focus more on the river and the character of its people.
The book has many evocative passages describing the river. The first thing you discover is that fishing the Miramichi involves not one river but many. Curtis treats several of the great river's tributaries individually and in a loving fashion, elaborating both on their status as salmon rivers as well as on their particular beauty. The Cains, the Dunvagan, the little Southwest, the Renous--each has its own story and emerges with its own personality.
Curtis also dwells lovingly on the characters of the anglers he has met and guided. Ted Williams makes an appearance, as does the rumour of Marilyn Monroe. But the majority of the stories are carried by lesser names who become memorable through Curtis’ artful depictions. The only thing that spoiled these character studies was a somewhat frustrating note at the beginning of the book that stated that most of the stories are fictional, but some real life scenes are expressed. It would be nice to be told specifically know which events are true and which are fiction. I suppose the photographs which appear at the beginning of many of the chapters are an indication that the characters recounted in them are real.
Throughout the book, Curtis makes a reasonable and impassioned plea for conservation, not just of the environment but of the fish themselves, preaching the doctrine of catch and release. He becomes almost lyrical in his praise of the salmon, bordering on the edge of hyperbole, but the respect seems certainly genuine.
Perhaps it is Mr. Curtis’ poetic side coming though, but I noticed at times a certain freedom regarding commas and general rules of grammar. The book needed to be more carefully edited. The errors detract from the beauty of the writing and distract attention from what otherwise is an attractive book.
He definitely saves the best for last. The final essay, “Away: A Guide’s Lament,” is a moving piece that shows how the river can get right into a person’s soul. He enumerates all the trials and hardships faced by a river a guide, stating plainly his desire to be free of that life. But even when he is struggling against the pull of the river, his language is elegiac. And after he has made his complaint and told us where he wants to go and what he wants to do, he turns back with a sort of apology and reconciliation and says, “I would like to get away from this old river for a rest. A short break is all I need. When I return I know you will be here. And I’ll appreciate you all the more.”