Water Walking

I suppose there is something in fishing that lures each of us to the water.  Large fish. Loads of fish.  Beautiful fish.  Vistas that are implicit in our surrounding.  Small flies and minuscule leaders. Ginormous flies with horse leads. Perhaps it is to vindicate our faith, by witness of water walking.  The pursuit of memories. Past companions.  Solace. Solitude.  Sounds. Thoughts. Meditation.  Company.  Battle.  The drive.  Family. The eat.
What ever it may be for each individual, one thing is certain.  It is Liquid.  It will drown you or drown out the world.  One day's reason for pursuit may be folly the next.  It is ever evolving in each individual.
I, with certainty, know that my reasons for "fishing," as we have come to call this thing we all pursue, have changed dramatically.
Initially it was most likely intrigue.  Once I found success, the pursuit became fish.  Once satisfied with fish, I pursued size.  After finding size, I sought variety.  From variety came fidelity.
After distillation, we find that it is an inclusive experience from beginning to end.  Fluid as the liquid we in which we surround ourselves.  Changing as the waters with the seasons.  We look back over losses and conquests, both have purchased strong holds within us. The losses often have precedence in our minds and compel us to conquest.
To speak of a final destination would be blasphemy.  It is the pursuit that we seek.  A fisherman who finds a final fish is no fisherman at all.
We take pleasure in it all.  Perhaps not always in the moment. When the snow is stinging our eyeballs as the wind drives it into our face and we can no longer feel your fingertips.  When the cold causes our teeth pain in attempting to smile.  Pestilence of mosquitoes, biblicaly proportionate.  Trying to convince ourself that fish really do exist.  For those that can, metaphorically stand back while fishing, the righteousness of our experiences and associations become apparent.  Not to detract from the fish, they truly are the catalyst of these experiences.  Most days, I truly only need the fish!  But there are certain days and experiences that are way beyond fishing despite my "just fishing."
It is odd.  It may be said that life is really about memories.  It is because of memory that we are who we have become.  It is memory that either compels or causes inhibition.  For a surety, fishing will consistently gift us pleasant recollections.