NARRATIVES (For Contextualizing Narratives)

This topic submitted by Maggie, Brian, Randy, Jason, Ryan (respectively) on 4/29/03. [ Rivers Team: Maggie, Brian, Randy, Jason, Ryan (respectively)-Section: Blaisdell/Wolfe]

"ecycled Dreams" by Maggie Perrino

Once upon a time a family of humans went on a camping trip. They each packed their things: boots and jackets and sleeping bags, and set off for the campsite. The little car, overly full with pots and tent poles, tooted down the highway toward their destination. When they were only a few minutes off, the family stopped at a small convenient store to buy food supplies for the weekend of camping. This is where I come into play. HI, IÕm Ringer! I am one of those sets of plastic rings that you find around a six-pack of soda pop. Well it just so happened that this particular family of campers picked me (and my soda family of course) to go on their camping trip. I was taken up to the register and wedged on a small conveyor belt between some cheese and some chocolate bars. Then, after this slightly claustrophobic experience, I was stuffed into a paper bag. I could see that being bought wasnÕt all it was cracked up to be, but I had hope that things would turn out okay.
They seemed like nice enough folks and I was terribly excited to be off the store shelves. I knew I would miss my soda family terribly when drinking time came, but I had faith that weÕd all meet again after being recycled.
Yes, my dearest wish is to be recycled! I want to bring new life to another soda family! Or maybe my plastic will be used for something new and different like a milk jug or a plastic bag or a cup!! If I were any of those things, I feel like I could really help people. Oh the possibilities seemed endless on that summer day when I finally left the convenient store and headed out for a new life with a family of humans.
We reached the campsite quite quickly, since it was not that far from the main road. Once there, I was placed in a cooler with the other perishable items. Night was falling and I could the faint crackling of a fire through the cooler lid and the giggling of family members as I imagined them roasting marshmallows and drinking cocoa. So I put my soda family to bed, and then hunkered down for the evening myself. I was excited for the next dayÕs lunch or dinner, and dreamed of quenching the thirst of the family and then that big recycling plant in the sky.
I was awoken with a start the next morning. A big shoe first kicked the cooler and then the lid. It rumbled and shook until the lid popped off. I could see the father of the human family and his little girl rummaging around the site packing up gea and backpacks- we were clearly going somewhere. He reached in and grabbed me up, placing me in a smaller cooler with some sandwiches and a few cans of beer. After a few moments, and I imagine a bit more packing, the father picked up the cooler and we were on our way. In the hands of the little girl was a miniature rod and some bait. We were going fishing.
In the banks of a small but swiftly flowing creek we settled in for a day of fishing. Immediately one of my sodas was taken from the cooler. I watched as the small girl open the can and held it to her lips. She nursed the soda for a better part of an hour, and when she was done I heard her say, ÒDaddy what should I do with the can?Ó And then with his reply horror struck me, ÒOh just throw it in the water dear, no one cares.Ó I never heard such a sad thing in my life. I knew now that no recycling plant was in my future and each of the members of my soda family would soon be pitched into the creek. I became tearful, or perhaps it was condensation from the cooler, at the thought of my poor little can drifting aimlessly down creek with no real hope of rescue.
And so the day continued on in this way. Each of my cans, except the last, which was tossed carelessly into the nearby woods, was thrown into the water as though a trashcan or recycling bin were too much effort. I couldnÕt help but think of what a sad state these humans must be in if properly disposing of a small amount of trash was too much to ask. I watched as the man chucked my last can in the creek. I began to wonder what would become of me just as his hand reached in and grabbed me. He turned to the little girl and said, ÒWeÕll just toss the rest of this stuff here so we donÕt have to carry it. DonÕt worry, no one really cares.Ó And so I, the last of my soda family, was thrown into the creek with some newspaper and plastic sandwich bags to float through the scenery, to be little for others to scoff at, never to be recycled.
As I hit the water all my dreams of recycling were dashed. I could only think of what lie ahead. As I rode the swift current of the creek I saw many different kinds of fish and frogs and plants. I saw my first can stuck on the branch of a small log that had fallen into the stream. Some small bugs of some sort seemed to be marching in and out of it. It made me glad for a second to think of the insects sipping up the residue of sweet soda pop. But the feel was very soon destroyed as I saw my next can. It must have floated into a small pool where schools of fish reside, for a small fish had gotten itself hung up on the tab and then cut itself on the sharp rim. I floated by in horror, thinking that it should not have been the future for a soda pop can.
And so it went for the rest of my drifting. One had washed up on the shore and was now being played with by a squirrel. The fifth can I saw just as I floated by. It had filled with water and sunk to the bottom, stuck there against a rock. The sixth can I never saw again. I believe it continues to float with the water, maybe to the sea. I however became entangled in some plant leaves and came to rest in a small pool of clear water. It is a place where fish swim everyday and smaller creatures scuttle about the rocks on the bottom. But I do not see it anymore.
A stayed tangled in the leaves for some days, thinking about my soda family and dreaming of recycled plastics. The scenery was beautiful, much nicer than the convenient store and I was in some respects happy. My greatest sadness came from knowing that I was not a beautiful part of this scenery- I was litter. But time passed and I grew accustomed to my surroundings. The birds would fly over and dive at the fish, and deer would come and water at the stream. On one particular day, a deer came right into my pool to drink some water. It seemed in an awful hurray and didnÕt look very carefully where it was drinking, and before I had time to realize what had happened the deer had slurped me up and began to choke. I wanted to free myself but of course could not move. I felt the deer gasping for breathe and finally tumble to the ground.
And here is where I reside to this day. I was so excited to be recycled and here I sit taking life instead of giving it. In time the deer will be recycled and become part of the earth again. I will not. Even when the deer is gone, I will be left here- never to biodegrade, only to remain litter. It is funny to think back on my story though; funny to think how easily this life could have been saved. I have little hope. All I hear is the echoing of a father telling his daughter, ÒDonÕt worry no one cares.Ó Well this deer cared, and I care too- WonÕt you care a little? Please be mindful of you trash and recycle.

"Not Just a Male Sport" by Brian Ross

Hello, my name is Wilma Watershed and I am a 28-year-old woman. I am writing this narrative to try and get society to realize that bass fishing is not just for men. My goals for this narrative are to make other women that share my same enthusiasm for bass fishing realize that we can be just as enthusiastic about this sport as the other sex. It has always been a stereotype that only men love to fish and explore wilderness. I can say that for myself and several other of my female friends that we enjoy the outdoors and are just as good at bass fishing as many of the men we know. Also, I want to emphasize that I not only love to fish, but I have a great respect for the outdoors and the places I fish. I have so much respect that it concerns me that people arenÕt taking enough care of the outdoors. I want to make everybody aware of how badly pollution can influence aquatic life. In the following paragraphs IÕm going to share some of my stories as a way of getting ordinary people to open up their minds about women who fish and how they can lend a hand in taking care of our watersheds so many species of fish can flourish.
When I was a little girl I didnÕt have dolls to play with and didnÕt watch cartoons. I was 6 years old when my dad bought me a fishing rod. I always liked feeding the fish when my parents took me down to the park, but I had never tried to catch one. When I was at the park, I always would see people on the banks and bridges with fishing rods in their hand and a cup of worms. They seemed to be enjoying themselves, especially when they caught a fish. When I was around 5 years old, I begged my dad to buy me a fishing rod for my sixth birthday. He complied with my wishes and bought me small spinning rod along with a tackle box and a few accessories like bobbers, hooks, and sinkers. The day I received my pole, my dad took me out to this farm pond that he frequently fished. We went to the bait shop to purchase some worms and then headed off to the pond. When we got my rod rigged up with a bobber and sinker my dad wanted to put a worm on my hook, but I was so excited by that time I told him I could figure it out and I took a night crawler out of the cup and ran the hook through it a couple of times and my dad helped me make a good cast out into the water. He told me to wait until the bobber went under and when it did to reel up my slack of line and jerk the pole back as hard as I could to set the hook. After about 2 minutes my bobber went under and my heart dropped to my stomach because I knew I had a fish! I was careful not to get overly excited and remembered what my dad told me to do. I set the hook and reeled in my catch and as my dad got the fish out of the water he held it up and I stared straight into the face of a largemouth bass that was missing one eye and had a serious gash that hadnÕt healed on its dorsal side. I asked my dad when the bass looked so bad and he told me that the man who let us fish the pond was a cattle farmer and would let his cattle have access to the pond. He said apparently one of the cows had stepped on the fish and the bass was lucky to have escaped with its life. He said that because the farmer let his cows wander into the pond that the water would get so murky and polluted by cattle waste that it would be hard for the fish to survive. From that day forward, I never forgot what my dad said and have done everything I possibly can to protect places like that pond and the local streams that I fish.
When I was 17 years old I had become a fairly good bass angler. I caught a few each time I went, although some days would be better than others and I learned from my subscription to Bassmaster magazine, which IÕve been a member since I was 9, that the weather can have a great affect on fish. My dad had done a great job in teaching me the basics when I was younger. He would take me out to a pond or stream almost every weekend and each time I seemed to get better. However, after a while of fishing with live bait I became very bored because I would catch only a few bass and bluegill by doing this. The fish I did catch werenÕt that big and I was becoming frustrated because I wanted to land some big 3 or 4 pound bass like my dad sometimes caught. I told him this and he started to teach me how to fish with artificial bait. This was much more challenging than it seemed and it took me awhile to figure out how to fish with artificial bait because there was so much that I had to learn like what each bait represented, how fast to fish the lure, and what kind of knot to use for the lure. This is when I convinced my dad to buy me a subscription to Bassmaster magazine. Once I started reading the magazines I learned how important it was to use other aspects of the environment to catch fish like temperature, water temperature, water depth, whether or not it was sunny or cloudy and how structure contributed to catching fish. By the time I was 17 I had been a member of Bassmaster for 8 years and had read every issue I received from cover to cover! Needless to say I knew my stuff about fishing and could out fish most of my guy friends, which made them quite upset. They would always wonder how I could catch fish that they couldnÕt and would constantly be asking me for tips on how to catch more and bigger fish!
It was during my teenage years that I made the smooth transition from fishing ponds to fishing streams. Streams are the primary habitat that small mouth bass thrive. Smallmouth bass donÕt get as big as largemouthÕs, but they much more aggressive feeders and put up a great fight when you get a hold of one. However, my dad wouldnÕt take me out on his stream adventures because he said I was too small and could have an accident in the stream such as stepping into a deep hole or tripping over a log in the water. I didnÕt start stream fishing until I was around 15 and had pretty much reached my peak height. I really enjoyed stream fishing more so than pond fishing because unlike a pond, a stream goes on and on and on and itÕs a much bigger adventure to keep walking down the stream to see new structure, fishing holes, and new landscapes. I also feel a lot more in touch with nature while I am wading a stream. ThereÕs just something about actually being in water out in the middle of the wilderness that gives me a peaceful feeling. I love the tranquility that this provides and I feel much more at peace with my life while I am in a stream and away from the outside world.
However, during the past decade I have noticed several changes in the local stream that I fish. First, there has been a significant increase in urbanization around a big part of the stream area. Where there used to be open fields as far as the eye can see, there are now strip malls and apartment complexes. The bank of the stream that sits next to these newly developed areas now has concrete where there used to be trees and muddy water with tires, car parts, household appliances, and trash like cans, bottles, and fast food wrappers. What was once a prime spot for smallmouth bass has become a tepid pool of polluted water. I have done my best to clean some of these things out of the water, but it seems like a never-ending battle so I decided to do more about it.
Recently I have started an organization called the WomenÕs Fishing Alliance. The W.F.A. was created in order to bring attention to the town and how they have contributed to a decrease in the fish population in the stream. The organization also was organized to bring women together who share the same hobbies and ideas about wildlife that I do. I wonÕt lie; it took awhile to get the organization off the ground. For about 3 months, there were only about 8 women that were part of W.F.A., but after tireless advertising in the local newspaper and radio, our numbers have grown tremendously! We now have been a local organization for 4 years and we have a membership of 234 women, all of who like to fish and have an interest in saving our local stream and making it a high quality stream again. We do things like run commercials on the local TV. station showing footage of the nice parts of the stream and then showing pictures of hundreds of dead fish and pollution around the part of the stream that has become a part of the urbanized area. We take donations from regular individuals and from some of the local businesses that agree with our stance on how important our local stream is for recreation and wildlife.
Our biggest success story has been that we brought about enough awareness through our commercials and newspaper/radio advertising that some local businesses have agreed to purchase the remaining land that was set aside for development. The businesses have purchased a land trust for the area so that a development company will never touch it. We also have raised enough money to hire contractors to come in a fix the quarter mile stretch of stream that suffered a heavy toll from the urbanization and I am now proud to say that there are several baby trees sprouting up around the banks and fences and drains were put in to catch most of the flying debris and pollution from the local companies that are beside the stream. There are smallmouth bass that are coming back to that part of the stream and we have even put in some heavy brush and dead trees to give these fish the structure theyÕve been used to having in the stream before it was urbanized.
There now is a strong belief in our community that women are possible of enjoying the outdoors as much as some of their husbands. Our town is quite aware that women care about the outdoors and that fishing is no longer a menÕs sport. The W.F.A. has monthly bass tournaments on the stream and on our local lake. We have weekly meetings on how women can do more to increase awareness of the environment. We have days on where all members get together to walk different parts of the stream to test the water and pick up trash along the way. We have convinced some farmers to put up fences around the stream and in doing so we have compensated them with some money to build spring water tanks for their cattle to drink out of. There is still much to be done, but I feel we have done an adequate job so far in protecting our local stream and the habitat that surrounds it. We also are working to incorporate our young children to join the fight to protect our watershed. We set up field trips during the school year in which the children come out with us to the stream for a hike, picnic, and fishing tournament. We also teach them ways in which they can protect our streams like sending letters to our local politicians and putting on skits for city hall that encourages fishing and stream protection. This has probably been my favorite part of the organization because if we can teach our children at an early age how fun it is to fish and how important it is to protect our streams so there will be fish to catch, then we have a great chance of winning this fight against watershed destruction and pollution!

"Love at First" Sight by Randall Young

I remember the first time that my Papaw (Grandad) and Dad took me fishing in Fourmile Creek. It was an amazing experience, one that I could only feel and would not learn the vocabulary to put the feelings into words until much later. Now having the vocabulary to recall the memory of this trip makes it like watching a movie on the big screen.
We were after Smallmouth Bass or smallies as I came to call them. There were plenty of other fish in the creek like chubs, sunfish, bluegills, catfish, suckers, carp, but smallies! smallies were what made Papaw and DadÕs mouths water. After a few years of fishing and with a little experience under my belt I realized why smallies were a better catch than any other fish. It is said that a three pound smallie puts up as much of a fight as a seven pound Largemouth, and the art and fight to bring in a hooked fish is more than half the fun.
Anyways, back to the trip, I didnÕt catch a damn thing and you know what? I didnÕt care. To be out on Fourmile with my Dad and Papaw and throwing that line into the water and trees, and once into my dad, was entertainment enough. So catching fish wasnÕt needed. I remember that my Dad caught four smallies and my Papaw caught seven. For the brief moments that I looked at my Dad and especially Papaw, they seemed to possess an infinite amount of wisdom and an understanding that led to their connectivity and ability to catch fish. I would try to be as quiet and graceful as they were, and I even tried to make the same concentrated look that they did. But, I would forget as soon as I saw a frog or got my line stuck in a tree. My dad would come over and pull the line down out of the tree, which maybe has something to do with why Papaw caught more fish than Dad. I could tell that my dad was frustrated but he tried not to show it, probably because if he did Papaw would have reminded Dad about when he was a boy and Papaw did the same thing for Dad. I think that I secretly really liked it when my line was stuck because my dad and I would talk for just a minute as he got my line down; he would give me a pointer and I was desperate for any bit of anything that would make me more like those two.
I remember feeling like we were the only people on Earth. It was just the three of us surrounded by nature and there wasnÕt a single sign that pointed to any other human beingÕs existence on this planet. I didnÕt just feel surrounded by nature, but rather a part of it as I stood there looking down through the clear water chasing minnows with my eyes. I cherish that day and I hope that I can pass days like that on to others.
ÒLove HurtsÓ
I am up early and on my way to go fishing. Its only early spring, which makes it the best time to be up early and admiring the outdoors. Already cannot see as far as I would wish to because of the saddening problem of air pollution or smog that everyone has become all too familiar with.
Well, it sure would be nice to catch a fish. Not just any fish, but a smallie. Unfortunately there arenÕt many if any left in the area. Possibly the most depressing part of this tale is that the lack of smallies is directly related to fishing by the generations of my family. Unfortunately the generations of my father and grandfather did a little too much fishing. Smallies are now virtually extinct in the areas of the Fourmile that I fish. There are also other facts contributed to by a group much lager than the generations of my family that are a bit more scientifically complex and have added to this issue. It is relatively well known that fertilizers, in this case those specifically used by farmers, are rich in nitrogen as nitrogen is one of the most important elements when considering plant nutrition. Increased algal blooms are the result of this increase in nitrogen, which is one of the reasons that shoes specifically designed for stream wading are so popular today. There is increased algae growth on the rocks making them incredibly slippery and dangerous, therefore there are specially designed shoes worn by waders to grip the algae covered rocks. But anyways, the increased algal blooms which can create an environment for oversaturation of oxygen during sunny hours of the day also creates an environment of depressed and dangerous oxygen levels during the night hours (399 Harper). Smallies seem to be more sensitive to these depressed oxygen levels than other species of fish and many have died during the dark hours of the night. This is not only caused by fertilizer pollution, but also by other forms of pollution such as the cycling of other elements like phosphorus.
There are also plenty of other problems that have made fishing in the stream today much different than fishing Fourmile when I was younger. Segments that once flowed as Mother Nature instructed them, now flow the way that cement walls have laid the path. Many small pools that were the result of a tributary inputting into the Fourmile no longer exist for the sake of adding a few square yards to farm land or the construction of a road. These pools were my favorite place to fish because they were the most aesthetically pleasing sites on the stream. Not to mention they were the areas that had the most fish. Reeds and other vegetation grew in these spots and large debris, such as logs, were held up here. Both vegetation and debris created desired cover for fish, thus resulting in my favorite places to fish. Due to these geomorphologic changes surrounding the stream there have been some rather detrimental effects. The canalization of the water causes increased velocity in the stream flows cutting down on areas of reduced flow that serve as safe locations for invertebrates and fish larvae. Canalizing the stream has also led to increased sediment load within the stream; this can result in the clogging of fish gills and covering spawning sites with silt or eliminating them altogether. This problem when left up to Mother Nature to solve, is taken care of by areas where stream water pools, slows current, and allows for the depositing of sediment load. The aforementioned pools where tributaries dump their waters into the creek are prime examples of these helpful spots needed for stream health. The reeds and other water plant life that was once able to grow there could return a contaminated and out of balance nitrogen cycle to itÕs original and natural cycle, (397 Harper). Now, however there is added farmland, which means added fertilizers and less plant life within the stream to help balance out the disrupted cycles.
Luckily there are practical solutions to these problems already known to human minds through close observation and study of natural cycles and habitats. It is primarily important to keep in mind that stream restoration should be looked at through a lens that only sees restoration on a habitat scale. With that being said, an excellent way to increase stream health is to increase vegetation in and out of the water in areas where it once existed.
Well, I feel a little better with solutions in mind and am ready to step in. The water is cool and my hairs raise as the water surrounds my lower body. There is nothing else in the world that I would rather be doing right now than what I am doing. I hook the line with my finger and pull the pole backwards then throw forward and let the line fly. I should be the advertisement for some fishing ad right now, as my lure breaks the surface of the water and the sun hits my line, highlighting it as it cuts through the unbelievable scenery. On days like this I donÕt even care if I catch a fish because of the scenery and feeling of connectivity (I say that on any morning like this but if I go an hour without catching a fish IÕll be saying prayers as I reel in each cast). Well if I do catch anything, than it will be a spotted bass. They have kind of stepped in where the now extremely rare smallies used to be. I flash back to when I was child and try to place myself back in the mind frame I had when I went fishing for the first time. TAP!TAP! ItÕs a bite! I throw my pole back at a 45 degree angle and the fish is hooked for certain. I begin to reel and then the fish peels through the surface of the water like a missile shot from a submarine under the water. I move my line in the direction that the fish jumps and then let the fish wear itself out as it tries to swim away. I finally reel the fish all the way in as I back up onto shore. I grab the fish by the lower lip and pull the hook out. I notice the gills are dirty, they have mud in them. Oh well, the fish is a beauty. ItÕs long and fat, the biggest IÕve caught in a while. This one is all I need for dinner tonight.
I am at home on the picnic table in the backyard ready to gut and fillet the fish. I pull out my knife, put the fish out of its misery, and then make the incision down the spotted bassÕs belly. The meat looks wonderful, tender and a little pink. I cannot wait to eat.

"D r e a m i n g R e a l "
by Jason Harnish

Something loud had awoken Sindri from her dream. Pity too because she was dreaming of sneaking up on a school of minnows. Slowly flapping her white fins from side to side so as not to alert the speedy creatures to her presence, Sindri was gliding in from their rear. The rocky bottom of the water had provided her with the perfect camouflage. Her white and green fins were nearly identical to the mossy bedding and the white rocks. Quietly making her way closer, she attempted to swim even lower. She was almost lying at the bottom of the stream as the school sharply changed direction. By instinct, Sindri darted to her left to cut them off in hopes of grabbing at least one. Her vision seemed almost crystal clear, which was odd compared to her usual dreams. The minnows did not even seem to notice her charging towards them and by the time they had realized their mistake, Sindri had already caught one. It was odd, though. The minnow ensnared by her mouth did not even react. It did not even try to escape. It just laid there in the water as if content to float for eternity. Opening her mouth and sucking the minnow in by using her mouth as a vacuum, the minnowÕs momentum did the rest. SindriÕs tongue caught hold of the minnowÕs body. Usually the minnow would be swallowed whole, but this time the patch of teeth lining SindriÕs tongue cut its body into smaller pieces and the taste sprung vibrantly all over her mouth.
ThatÕs when it happened. Like a net suddenly releasing her captive, Sindri swam out of her slumber. Glancing around, she could not seem to understand what had jostled her sleep. Finally giving her eyes the time needed to perceive the environment, things did look a little odd this morning. She swam in circles using her rear fin to look in all directions. The water seemed quite a bit cooler than she remembered it should be for an April morning. Where were all the rest of the people she had slept near? Alvis, Grid, Tyr, they were all missing. In fact, the only company Sindri could see was the mossy floor and the countless rocks lining the surface of the august waters. They better not have gone to breakfast without me again, she thought.
Wiggling her small body through the stream, her fins sliced through the chilled water. Stopping near the edge of the schoolÕs territory, Sindri turned her body to see the sunÕs rays piercing the surface of the water. The intersections created an array of colors that constantly ebbed and flowed at what seemed to be some preordained level from the ground. Red, yellow, green, orange, blue, violet Ðthe colors shined over her body.
The waters were much more pristine than when SindriÕs parents were around. It didnÕt seem so long ago when endless nights would be spent having her parents lecture at her about how the schoolÕs waters were becoming denser and more opaque. Moving from school to school, during those times, one could hardly make friends anywhere. Not to mention the fact that trudging through the water seemed almost unbearable those days. There was barely any food, which meant some of the larger fish that usually werenÕt a threat to Sindri came after her small body. Luckily her parents were experts at the tactics of evasion. The only time Sindri ever came close to losing her life was when a crayfish she was about to eat for lunch caught her hiding behind a rock and attacked her instead of fleeing. Her father quickly came out from the other side and saved Sindri. He shared the crayfish as well; that was just the way her father was to her. He remembered crayfish was her favorite meal, like everyone in her family.
Settling here, where she has spent the last two warm seasons, Sindri has grown quite accustomed to living in these waters. The rocks she played near since her arrival still dot the floor of the riverbed. The crayfish colonies she loved to feed on were right around the river bend nearer to the shallow Òoff-limitÓ area.
Rumor had it that the off-limit area was a place where a famous relative of the school died. The heroic Jarl followed a massive fish that had attacked the school of the Spotted. Later it was discovered that the school of the Smalls

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